


Mixing It Up

by sinspiration



Series: Bakery AU! [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 40,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6605581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinspiration/pseuds/sinspiration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric Bittle, of Bitty's Bakery, is very excited to have been chosen as a contestant for the Food Network Challenge. He's even more excited to find out that he's making a cake for the NHL new-Cup winners, the Falconers. </p><p>Jack Zimmerman, of the Falconers, doesn't know anything about cake, and will be the first to tell you that he feels wholly unqualified to judge a cake-making competition. At least Alexei is there to help ease things a little. Honestly, all he's really expecting is to be very awkward on camera for the entire segment, and to eat a lot of cake that's not really in his diet plan.</p><p>That's how it starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Bitty-is-a-baker AU I have been wanting. Or. ONE OF MANY I HAVE BEEN WANTING.
> 
> Please give me all the bakery AUs. Or Bakery future!fics. Or all fics with baking.

Bitty’s hands are shaking as the sound tech makes sure his microphone is in place for the contestant interview. It’s so funny. He’s worked his little baking vlog for years, but it is _something else_ to be broadcasting on national television. Even if it is for baking, that thing so near and dear to his heart he could do it in his sleep.

He gets the signal, the little hand wave that says he’s on, go ahead with the introductions, and gives a little wave, smiling as brightly as he can. “Hey ya’ll! I’m Eric Bittle, from Bitty’s Bakery! I’m really looking forward to this here competition. A little not-so-secret, but hockey’s one of my favorite sports. Can’t believe I’m going to be making a cake for the Falconers, winners of the Stanley Cup!”

He chatters on about his cake plans, knowing that the explanation will be used as soundbites throughout the whole show. He’s not too worried about what he’s saying. That’s what editing is for. After he gets the signal to wrap up, he winds down, giving another smile. “And that’s what I came here to do!” He doesn’t bother to say something silly like _I came here to win_ . Cause he didn’t. Oh sure, winning would be _nice_ , but Eric mostly came to make cake and promote his business.

And of course, baking for the NHL is nothing to sneeze at either. He wonders who the guest judges will be. Maybe one of the Falconers’ PR team! It’d be nice to get a bit of a chat in with them. Maybe ask for some tips. His vlog is getting mighty popular now.

 

\---

 

“Zimmboni!” Alexei flings an arm around Jack’s shoulders as they make their way down the hall. “Can you believe we are judges for cake? And Crystal can say nothing!”

“Haha, yeah,” Jack says. Crystal, the team nutritionist, had already told him to “go crazy but not too crazy, but seriously Jack, some cake won’t kill you.” She’d given Tater a _lecture_.

They wait for their cue, and then there are lights and sounds and lasers (why are there lasers?), and then the two of them walk out as the Mystery Guest Judge Reveal. Alexei is in his _element_ , grinning his head off, his arm still around Jack’s shoulders. Jack knows his own smile is PR-bland, but he can’t help it. At least he’s smiling. George had been _very clear_ on smiling.

 _“We really think doing this would be good for you, Jack,”_ she’d said. “ _Show more of your personality_ .” Jack isn’t sure what personality she _means_ but. It’s fine. And Tater’s an easy comfort. Jack is pretty sure he’ll happily do most of the talking, which is nice to rely on.

The bakers are all lined up in front of the table Jack and Tater go to sit at. They’re all smiling, but the short, blond man at the end looks like he’s practically vibrating with energy. It looks like he’s very ready to go and _do._ Jack can appreciate that. He gets like that on the ice, wound up before a game because he just wants to play.

The baker is also staring at Jack, eyes really, really wide. Before Jack can think better of it, he waves. It’s what he’s used to doing, when people stare at him.

The baker blinks hard, then _beams_ , and Jack takes his seat next to Tater while the announcer explains the challenge to the audience. They’re each going to be making a cake that is to be presented to the Falconers and their crew. It needs to be at least three feet tall (which is good, considering it has to feed a team of hockey players and staff), must tie in with the theme of the NHL and the Falconers, you have eight hours, begin! The bakers sprint off to their respective stations, and Jack directs his attention to the announcer, who starts by introducing each baker, explaining a little about their designs. Jack knows that’s for the audience’s benefit, not the viewers; everything is going to be fixed in editing. But he pays attention, because it’s good to know. The blond is apparently Eric Bittle, and he’s planning --the sketch pops up on a large screen-- to recreate the Stanley Cup. Out of cake. And the entire Falconers team. Out of...modeling chocolate?

Beside him, Tater whistles. “Wow, that is tall order!”

“Now Eric,” the announcer asks, going over to him, “Out of four teams, you’re one of three creating the Stanley cup. What is going to set your cake apart?”

“Good ol’ fashioned love and attention to detail,” Eric replies, not stopping from where he and his partner, a tiny asian woman, are layering cake and frosting onto a giant wooden stand. “I’m gonna get started on decorating the cup, while Lardo does her magic on the modeling chocolate. Lardo doesn’t usually work with cake,” he adds, and he smiles mischievously, like he knows a secret, “but I’m confident in her work as an artist.”

The announcer laughs. “Good to know! I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Thank you kindly.” Eric’s already turning away.

It’s not as boring as Jack thought it might be. Because they’re not competing, they’re allowed to get up and take breaks regularly, walk around and observe each competitor. They’re actually encouraged to do the latter, the camera crew following them around as they make their way from kitchen to kitchen. Tater keeps up a very enthusiastic commentary about what is going on, and Jack is able to smile and give comments when asked. His two favorite cakes so far are looking to be Anne Dover’s and Eric Bittle’s. Anne is from the Bronx, and she talks big, and her recreation of an entire hockey arena out of cake looks very impressive, even just two hours in.

Eric, by contrast, talks sweet and honey-slow, and he’s polite to everyone, but also lightning focused, which is another thing Jack can appreciate, in any art. His partner, Lardo (and was that name explained? It had to be a nickname, didn’t it?), is churning out tiny, incredible replicas of Jack’s team at a pace that seems super-human.

The other two competitors aren’t nearly as interesting, and Eileen Birch’s Stanley cup is already looking a little lopsided.

“Zimmboni!” Tater calls, from where he is bent over Lardo’s ‘done’ table. “Come see! Is you!” Lardo just rolls her eyes and bends down to continue working on someone else. From the color, Jack thinks it might be Thirdy, but he’s not sure.

Jack wanders over and looks at his little chocolate replica. It’s pretty amazing what people can do. Then he blinks, looking closer. She even got the little bags under his eyes. He’s...not sure how he feels about that.

“Bitty!” Lardo calls, and Eric looks up. Bitty? Oh right, that was the name of his bakery, wasn’t it. Guess it was a nickname that really stuck. “How’s the piping going?”

“Fine and dandy!” Eric replies, from where he’s perched, actually _on the table_ , piping little words on the cup.

“No!” Tater exclaims, going over and peering at whatever Eric is doing, “You kidding me? Zimmboni!”

“Tater, maybe you shouldn’t keep yelling,” Jack says quietly, when he obediently trots over. “You don’t want to distract them.”

“Aw, it’s fine Mr. Zimmerman,” Eric replies, biting his lip as he squints in concentration. “If I can bake six dozen mini-pies for a Fourth of July celebration with an entire block running in and outta the kitchen, I can do this while Mr. Mashkov is being… enthusiastic.” he has not stopped piping, the thin threads of icing sugar sure and steady.

“Call me Tater,” Tater says brightly. He looks as though he’s about the clap Eric on the shoulder, then obviously thinks better of it. Jack lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Like tiny potatoes!”

This actually does get Eric looking up, with a smile. It’s a nice smile, and it doesn’t look fake or polite. It looks like he’s actually amused. “Will do. Now, Mr. Zimmerman, did you want to take a look real quick?”

“Uh, sure.” Jack bends down carefully, aware of his bulk in this busy, hectic kitchen. And then he realizes that Eric’s actually been _piping names_ on the cup. His team’s names. “...wow.”

“Attention to detail!” Eric replies cheerfully. “But now I think I’m gonna show you two outta my kitchen. I _do_ need to get to work on finishing this up, lord. Go give the other competitors a little love, huh?”

“Distract them, you mean?” It’s out of Jack’s mouth before he thinks about it.

Eric laughs, a bright, tinkly thing. “Only as much as you’re distracting me. Now get.”

Tater laughs too, claps Jack on the back as they leave the area. “I like him!”

“Me too,” Jack says, surprised.

 

\---

 

Lord in _heaven_ Eric did not realize _two of the Falconers_ would actually be the guest judges. And they keep coming around and _talking to him_ , like they do not realize this is a competition. Which. Eric had not planned on caring whether or not he brought the win home, just as long as he made sure the world knew about Bitty’s Bakery and their down-home hospitality and excellent baked goods but _Jack Zimmerman and Alexei Mashkov are gonna be tasting his cake_.

He can tell that Lardo knew the exact second Eric kicked it into hyper-drive, because he’s second-guessing himself left and right even though he’s trying not to. And then Jack Zimmerman had honest-to-god _chirped him_ oh lord.

It’s hour five and the piping is done, the Falconers are nearly all sculpted, and Eric is sitting with his head in his hands, Lardo telling him to breathe and drink water, they’re right on scheduled it’s all downhill from here.

“Downhill things _snowball_ ,” Eric says, refusing to look up at the gorgeous ice arena Anne Dover has baked up. His Cup is the best, but that _arena_. If Ann wins the tasting then she’s taking this thing home. “And I should’ve added more bells and whistles, you know they always care about that sort of thing--”

“--and then you said that Bitty’s Bakery was about great food and decorations and heart, and you weren’t going to add in flotsam,” Lardo said, pushing the water bottle into his hands. “Even if you don’t win, you did yourself proud, Bits.”

“Are you okay?”

Bitty coughs and chokes on the water he just gulped, and Lardo is glaring up at Jack Zimmerman, who is only looking more concerned. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean--”

“It’s fine,” Bitty gasps out. “I’m fine.” He manages an actual swallow of water and waves a hand at Lardo, who looks half a second away from pounding on his back. “I’m good. Lardo, I’m fine. We should. We should get back to work. I need you to complete the team and start assembling while I finish the cake for the tasting.”

Lardo raises her eyebrow, making the movement _last_ , before she’s pushing to her feet. She gives Jack Zimmerman a _look_ before going to the table covered in figures. Only Lardo.

“Sorry about that,” Jack says, looking abashed, and he’s so _huge_ but also so quiet? Which Bitty knew from plenty of interviews but it’s another thing to see it in person.

“It’s okay,” Bitty says, waving his hand again. He pushes to his feet, and just sees Tater out of the corner of his eye, gesticulating wildly as he talks to the announcer. “Just some nerves. Not your fault.”

“Some competition, eh?” Jack says, hands in his pockets. “Glad it’s almost over?”

“ _Lord yes_ ,” Bitty says, before clapping a hand over his mouth. He quickly adds, because with his luck, they’re on camera, “Not that I’m not having a blast! But eight straight hours on a big project’ll take it out of just about anybody, I think. Don’t ya’ll worry, I’ll rally through!” There, that should make a nice soundbite, if they wanted one. He does hope they’ll make him out to be a nice competitor. And to Jack, just for Jack, he says, “I really am okay. I’m just worried about my flavours. I hope you and Ale--Tater like them.”

“What are they?” Jack asks, looking curious.

Bitty waves a finger. “Uh-uh, Mr. Zimmerman. No sneak peeks! You’re just gonna have to wait for the tasting like everybody else. Speaking of, I need to get back to that. Frosting ain’t gonna whip itself.”

“Sorry again,” Jack says, with a shrug.

“Lord but you are _Canadian_ ,” Bitty replies, before he thinks better of it. Then he sputters a little, and Jack actually smiles. “I mean! I said it was fine!”

“Looking forward to tasting that cake,” is all Jack says.

 

\---

 

Eric’s cake wins the tasting hands-down. Not that Tater is all that good a judge with how he _devours_ his slice and then immediately asks for another. Eric laughs while Jack mumbles about how he doubts that’s how the competition is supposed to work.

“I’ll be happy to serve up another slice,” Eric tells Tater. “If I’m allowed to.”

“Please?” Tater asks, looking beseechingly at the announcer, who grins. Jack inwardly sighs, but this is probably great TV.

“Are you supposed to show this much favoritism?” Jack asks.

“If is my favorite, I will say is my favorite!” Then he tries to get his fork in Jack’s piece. Jack fends him off, and for a few moments they’re engaged in a fierce fork battle, Jack actually momentarily forgetting that this is _footage_ and god, footage they’re probably going to use. He can just see it now, two NHL stars fighting it out over a piece of cake. The rest of the team is gonna chirp him for life.

But he’s going to defend that cake, because it was _excellent_ and, well, Crystal said he could. “This is mine,” he says, pulling the plate closer. “It’s not my fault you ate your own too fast.”

“But teammates, they share!”

Jack hears a soft sound, almost a snort, and looks up to meet eyes with Eric, who is doing a terrible job of hiding a wide smile behind his hand.

“How about this,” he tells Tater. “Even if I don’t win, I’ll promise I’ll serve you up all the scraps. They’ve gotta go somewhere, right?”

Tater pumps his fist in the air. Jack hides his face in his hands. But not before he smacks Tater’s fork away again.

 

\---

 

They win.

They win, they win, they _win_ . And Eric is jumping up and down and even Lardo is smiling widely and then there’s more screaming and it _might_ be coming from Eric but who even cares they _won_.

Alexei Mashkov is clapping loudly and runs up after to pull Eric into a hug that actually _lifts him off the ground_ how is this is _life_ and then Jack Zimmerman peers over Tater’s shoulder when he sets Eric down, giving him a little half-smile.

“Congratulations.”

And okay, Eric didn’t _mean_ to hug the NHL star and Stanley Cup winner, but he’d already gotten a hug from the _other_ one and he’s sort of in the zone, and he _just won the Food Network Challenge_ so he can’t be held _too_ responsible for throwing himself at Jack Zimmerman as tears are streaming down his face.

 

\---

 

Jack has an armful of tiny, blond baker, who is also crying (though he is pretty sure they’re happy tears at least, thank god) and his only instinct is to hug him back. So he does. One tight squeeze, and then he lets go.

Eric immediately takes a step back, wiping at his eyes. “Oh my goodness,” he half-sobs, but he’s smiling, “I am _so sorry_ , and I guess it’s my turn to apologize. I didn’t mean to literally throw myself at you.”

“I didn’t mind,” Jack says, surprising himself. Eric keeps making him surprise himself. It’s an interesting feeling. “You were happy.”

“ _Were_ denotes past tense and _happy_ doesn’t even begin to describe it. I am _ecstatic_ , Mr. Zimmerman, I am _over the moon_ . Oh my goodness, the Falconers hockey team is going to _eat my cake_.”

Jack blinks. “You’re a fan?” For some reason he didn’t even think--

“Of hockey? Oh yes! I actually played back in college.”

“You don’t. Um.” Jack stops talking.

But Eric just laughs. “Look like a hockey player? Oh I know, I got chirped for it for _days_. But I’m fast like you wouldn’t believe, which makes up for it. That’s the figure skater in me.”

“Figure skater?”

“Mm-hm. Did that before the hockey.”

“Oh.” Jack isn’t sure what else to say, with Eric standing so close to him and smiling, fresh off his victory. Which, of course, is when Tater comes back.

“Eric!” he says, full of glee, “I just realize this mean I can eat more cake!”

“YOU MOTHER FUCKING BEAUT.”

“Shitty!” Eric says, turning to the newcomer and _what_. But Eric only looks delighted as a man with a mustache --Jack recognizes him now, an audience member that had launched himself at Lardo after the cameras had turned off-- throws his arms around Eric and picks him up. Jack takes a step back on instinct.

“I knew you could do it!” The man, Shitty?, says, pulling back to smack a wet kiss on Eric’s cheek. Eric giggles and bats him away, and Jack frowns. “What’d I tell ya? No sweat!”

“There was plenty of sweat, bro,” Lardo says dryly, hooking her chin over Shitty’s shoulder in a familiar motion that makes something in Jack unclench. “Just didn’t get any of it on the cake.”

Shitty ruffles Eric’s hair, then twirls around to ruffle Lardo’s too. Followed by a full spin, stopping right in front of Jack and Tater. He looks up at them like he’s only just noticed them standing there. Jack has _never_ experienced that feeling before.

“Sup,” he says, sticking out his hand. “Name’s Shitty, bosom buddy of Bitty and Lardo here. Congrats on your win. That last goal was _ace_ , man.”

“Thanks,” Jack says politely, shaking Shitty’s hand first. It was his goal. “The team worked hard.”

Shitty blinks at him. “Nah, nah, I know _that_. But so did you! On your own! This guy too,” he adds, pointing a finger at Tater. “Not bad!” He says it sincerely, no trace on fangasm or anything. Jack finds he likes it.

Tater, of course, likes everyone. He throws a hand over Shitty’s shoulders, a signature move. “Thank you! You also not bad,” he grins. “Are you baker?”

“Me? Psh, _no_ , I just eat what Bitty makes on the regular.”

“And I’m not a baker,” Lardo adds, holding up a hand, “I just make art. I was helping Bits out.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Eric says warmly.

“Jack, Alexei,” Dana, their assigned PR person for the day is rushing over to them. “Can I talk to you? That was great, we’re going to rush it to debut next week so we can post some highlights--” And Eric and Lardo are swept away to discuss the cake transportation and party and filming there, and that’s that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't planned on updating this so soon, but a friend was feeling stressed out so I wanted to cheer em up a bit. Probably my next update won't come _quite_ as quickly, but I am still writing this, I promise.

The party is loud, and full of people, but even though the cameras are rolling at least these are people that Jack knows and is comfortable with. Half the team has already come by to chirp him about being a guest judge on a baking show, and the other half has been sulking over the fact that it wasn’t  _ them _ who got to be the guests on said show. Apparently Snowy wasn’t considered PC enough for family television, and he was  _ bummed _ because his whole family are actually big fans.

Of course, Tater lords it over  _ everyone _ . And has been talking about it nearly nonstop, especially about what the cake tasted like, so when it’s time for the reveal, there is an actual  _ stampede _ . Jack has to pull an intern out of the way.

Eric is standing near the curtained area, in a blue blazer and red bowtie and he looks--good. He’s blushing bright red and beaming, chattering to Dana about something and--

He looks good.

Jack swallows, throat suddenly dry, and takes his place on the edge, to watch. He’d mostly been looking forward to seeing his teammates’ faces, but he finds himself going back to look at Eric.

“--and I hope ya’ll enjoy it!” Eric says. “Now, we do have to get pictures first, but I promise that shouldn’t take long. Then I’m cutting her up and you can dig in. Sound good?”

“Very good!” Tater yells. “Drop curtain!”

Eric chuckles, his mic catching the sound, and he pulls the cord.

There is an immediate roar of approval that sweeps the room, the Falconers all seeing the Cup, in cake form (and it is no less spectacular looking) and starting to holler and cheer while Eric grins and rubs the back of his head. He steps aside as the crowd surges forward to get a closer look.

“Fucking look at me!” Snowy exclaims. “Cake me looks fucking great!”

“And that’s why you weren’t allowed on the show,” Thirdy chirps, leaning in close to read the piping on the Cup. “Jesus this is detailed. You did good, man.”

“Why thank you,” Eric says. He seems to be enjoying just watching everyone look at his cake, hearing them talk about it in both loud and hushed tones.

“That’s really a cake?” Poots asks incredulously.

“Cross my heart,” Eric says. Jack’s a little closer to him now, moving with the crowd. “You’ll get to taste it for yourself soon as everyone’s done looking.”

“Is very good!” Tater says, yet again, as he pops up behind Eric and grabs him in a one-armed hug. Eric’s eyes go wide and he sort of hunches in on himself for a second before  straightening up. Jack quickly steps forward, getting his own hand on Eric’s shoulder and pulling him away. Tater sometimes forgets that not everyone is used to his brand of affection. And Eric is… small.

Eric, for his part, smiles up at Jack. He has very long eyelashes. 

Jack swallows again.

“Why Mr. Zimmerman,” Eric says cheerfully, as if he hadn’t just frozen underneath Tater’s arm. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“I heard something about cake,” Jack says, shrugging. Eric laughs again. Jack likes hearing it, that he made that happen.

“I bet you heard it from your friend, Tater,” Eric says, as the hockey players finally move aside so that the much, much smaller crew can finally take a look at said cake.

“He might’ve mentioned it. I think you left an impression.”

“Or my lemon-almond frosting did. Though at the way ya’ll are admiring the thing, I don’t know if you’re gonna get a chance to  _ eat _ it.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Jack says. “We’ve all been looking forward to this. Our nutritionist hates you a little bit, I think.”

“Well I hope they’re here,” Eric replies easily. “They can have cake too and then they won’t feel so sore.”

“Tater did mention something about making sure Crystal ate some,” Jack says, smiling at the memory. “To explain why he ate three pieces during the tasting.”

Eric blinks at him. “How’d she even know he  _ ate _ three pieces?” Jack shrugs. “Jack Zimmerman, you didn’t!”

“It was payback for him eating half my slice.”

“You could’ve asked for _ more _ , you know. I wasn’t about to keep you from eating my food.”

“Eric!” Dana is waving him over. “We’re ready!”

“That’s my cue,” Eric says, smiling at Jack, before darting away.

 

\---

 

Bitty makes sure to carefully take all the sculpted players off the cake before cutting into it. By general consensus, a woman named George gets handed the first slice. She takes a bite, smiles, and nods, and then it is  _ mad chaos _ .

But Bitty has faced worse than thirty hockey players hungry for cake (not  _ much _ worse but he once provided the petit fours for a  _ five hundred party _ baby shower, he’s got skills). He smiles and doles out slices, and makes sure that each player gets their own little mini-me on their plate to admire. Then he cuts more slices for the crew, and seconds for a whole bunch of people (Tater is on his fourth piece, and a slender black woman that Bitty can only assume is Crystal is glaring daggers at him, but Bitty watched her eat her own piece of cake and smile at it, so he thinks he, at least, is in the clear).

His only regret is that he can’t tweet or vlog  _ any _ of this until next week, after the show and footage is all released. He’s just gotta sit on it until then, and talk Lardo and Shitty’s ears off. 

Speaking of which, “Where’s your friend?”  _ actual Jack Zimmerman  _ asks him, holding his empty plate. “Lardo? Why isn’t she here?”

“Oh, Lardo had finish up some work for a gallery exhibition,” Bitty says brightly, reaching for Jack’s plate. Jack frowns and hands it over, and then looks surprised when Bitty puts another slice of cake on it, bless him. “She works the register for me once in awhile, and helps out with sculpting when I need it, but baking’s not really her thing. I’ll tell her you remember her though! And here ya’are.”

“Oh uh, no thank you,” Jack says, even as he takes the plate back. “I really shouldn’t.”

“I could clear it with Crystal,” Bitty says, nodding in her direction. “I don’t think she’d be too mad at you. Tater’s already eaten six pieces himself.”

“ _ Six _ ?” Jack glances at Tater, who has stolen Snowy and Poot’s miniatures and is waving them in the air, acting something out. “...Well. Tater works hard. One day won’t kill him.” Even if Crystal might.

“One extra piece won’t kill you either.” And he can’t quite believe that he’s talking like this to  _ actual Jack Zimmerman _ but he is not one to pass up an opportunity so freely given.

“...I suppose not.” Jack looks down at his plate, then nods as if to say  _ yes I have made this decision and it is an okay decision _ , and takes a bite. And smiles.

Bitty’s heart might melt just a little bit. He clears his throat. “Well?”

“As good as the first piece was,” Jack says. “Which was pretty damn good.”

“You do know how to sweet-talk a boy,” Bitty laughs. “I prefer pie myself, but I do make a damn fine cake.”

“Mm.” Jack takes another bite, falling quiet. He doesn’t look uncomfortable… just like maybe he doesn’t have anything else to say. But he still wants to stand there. Well.  _ Well _ that is  _ fine _ .

Bitty keeps on serving cake, Jack a very interesting presence beside him, and Bitty nods happily at the praise thrown at him now and again, still not quite believing it’s all real. Guy just nodded at him and he  _ smiled a little _ , Thirdy is taking close-up pictures of what’s left of the Cup Cake, Snowy is cursing a blue streak to a shorter man with brown hair while also apparently trying to feed him, and --goodness Crystal just bodychecked Tater. For someone so slight, she’s a  _ powerhouse _ .

“But Crystal--” Bitty hears as the two of them approach, “Is celebration!”

“And you’ve celebrated plenty,” Crystal replies, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. “You think I wasn’t counting how much you’ve had? That goes  _ way _ over the amounts you got allotted. Season’s  _ over _ , Tater-tot.”

“I promise I will be very good rest of week,” Tater weedles, inching closer to Bitty and the cake. Beside him, Jack makes a muffled sound and when Bitty turns to look, realize Jack is  _ laughing _ .

“It’s Friday!”

“But Crystal, when I next get cake so good? Is special recipe! Special treat!”

Crystal heaves a very put-upon sigh. “ _ One more _ .” She says. “One! Lucky number seven and that is  _ it _ you got me?”

“Got you!” Tater shouts, holding his plate out to Bitty, who can’t help but laugh too. He plates it and shoos Tater away, turning to face Crystal, who’s still grumbling under her breath.

“Cake’s great,” she says with a sigh. “Stop making my job so hard. I’m supposed to be a good example, damn it.” And then she holds out her own plate.

Bitty  _ beams _ .

 

\---

 

Jack doesn’t exactly  _ mean  _ to, but he ends up spending most of the party next to Eric. And while Jack keeps running out of things to say, Eric easily fills the silences. He’s gotten on to some topic about jam, and the next time Jack looks up, Poots, Tater, Snowy, and their trainer, Matt, are all standing next to him, listening intently.

“But why the fuck doesn’t she just let the strawberries boil long enough?” Snowy asks incredulously. About  _ jam _ . And… Jack realizes he really wasn’t kidding, that his family was into reality baking shows.

Eric holds up his hands. “I’m not one to take part in the squabble. Auntie’s of the proper opinion that under-boiling’s better than over-boiling.”

“I fucking know  _ that _ ,” Snowy replies. “But still.”

“Why?” Poots asks. “What does it matter if it boils too long?”

Eric slides him a look. “Bless, don’t let any of the matriarchs ever hear you say that. Overdone jam is  _ not _ a pleasant thing.”

“Yeah,” Snowy adds, “it kills the pectin in the fruit.”

“This  _ amazing news _ ,” Tater says. “Snowy, you are practically baker!”

Snowy shakes his head. “Fuck no, I don’t have the time to get good at that shit. I just watch it on TV.”

“Now now,” Eric says, “I don’t see why you couldn’t be a baker if you wanted to. And it sure sounds like you do.” he smiles, and it looks sly. “I could give you some recipes. Basic ones. Easy-peasy.”

And Snowy actually  _ shrugs _ . “Yeah, maybe. Dunno. I more watch it than do it. Your cake’s the shit though.”

“Why thank you!”

Eric just  _ fits _ , Jack realizes, as he watches the conversations continue to unfold. Eric’s already at ease with all of them, in part because he’s just so genuine. 

“Jack, what you think?” Tater asks, serious, several minutes later. “Is very important. The peach-blackberry jam, or apricot-cherry?”

“Um,” Jack says. “I… peach?” He likes peaches. More than apricots, anyway.

“Peach- _ blackberry _ ,” Tater enunciates. “Combination is what’s important!”

“Yeah, I’d vote for peach-blackberry too,” Matt says.

“Same,” from Snowy.

“I dunno,” Poots says, “Apricot-cherry sounds interesting?”

“I just think it’d be too sweet,” Jack says, after some thinking. “Unless they’re tart cherries?” he glances at Eric, who is looking at all of them like this is the best conversation he has ever had. “Um. Eric?”

“They could be tart cherries,” Eric says immediately. “They could definitely be tart cherries.”

“But I still think the peach would be better,” Jack adds. “I like peaches.”

“I will make you  _ all _ the peach jam,” Eric says. “Just tell me where to send it. Or no, wait, do you like pie? I do a mean peach pie.”

“I prefer apple,” Jack says honestly. And he literally watches Eric’s face  _ light up _ .

“Do I have something for you then, Mr. Zimmerman. Next time you’re in my area of town.”

“Which uh, which area is that?” Jack asks.

“Boston,” Eric says brightly. “I went there for school, and liked it so much I stayed. Georgia’s where I grew up and all, but it was, well. It wasn’t all for me.”

Jack kind of wants to ask him why, but Eric suddenly isn’t meeting his eyes, and he doesn’t want to make him feel bad. Instead he says, “I’ll look you up. Promise.” And he makes a note to google Bitty’s Bakery when he gets home, just in case.

Eric’s answering smile makes him feel warm all over.

“Oh!” Tater says. “Me! You send jam and pies to me! Jack, he not be wanting them.”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ ,” from Crystal. “I mean it Bittle, I like you, I like you but please no.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been leaving me comments! They really mean a lot to me, and each one I get makes me smile. I'm so glad you've been liking my story so far! I hope you enjoy this next chapter =D

The thing is…

The thing is that Boston is actually not all that far from Providence. And Jack might be busy with training and PR, but. He’s not really _that_ busy. Not busy enough to keep from making an hour drive to a bakery. He did promise.

And he’d like to see Eric again.

So he looks up Bitty’s Bakery and, after psyching himself up and repeating to himself that he’s not being stupid, he’s allowed to do things, makes the drive. He blasts music the whole time and tries not to think too hard about _what_ he’s doing, what he might want, and before he knows it, he’s pulling up in front of a very bright, clean looking shop.

He needs to park his car about a block away and then walk, but he takes the time to try to clear his head, because the hour drive wasn’t good enough. He has to steel himself again before he opens the door, bell chiming.

Jack can tell the exact moment that Eric sees him, because he does an actual double-take, eyes going wide.

“Oh my goodness, Mr. Zimmermann! Hello!”

“Um.” And Jack hadn’t thought of that before, at the party, but it’s a little weird Eric doesn’t use his first name. “Call me Jack, please.”

“Jack then,” and Eric looks delighted over something so simple. “Good to see you again! What can I get you?” The what are you _doing_ here is not said, not even implied, and Jack is grateful for that.

“What’s good?”

“Jack Zimmermann, you did not just ask me that. Everything I serve is good.” Then he _winks,_ even with his hands on his hips. “But I’d recommend the pie, to start. Everyone and their momma likes my pies.”

“Then I’ll have that. Um. Surprise me with the flavour?”

“Will do! It’ll be just a tick. Lardo’ll ring you up. You remember her, right?”

Jack does, and he nods at her at the register and she nods back, and then he takes a seat at the counter, even though it’s more open, with more chance of people recognizing him. At least his back is to the door. A few minutes later Eric is sliding him a slice of slightly steaming apple pie.

“Takes a little longer, but if you wanna do apple pie right, you heat it up to serve,” Eric says cheerfully. Then he waits, while Jack picks up his fork. “It’s one of my best sellers. And you did say you liked apple. Tell me what you think!”

Eric is a well-known baker, who has just been featured on a national television show, and he’s waiting around for Jack’s opinion on his house specialty. And yet it seems so _genuine_.

“It’s good,” Jack says, not at all surprised, then cringes inwardly at how banal that must have sounded. Of course it’s good. Eric knows it’s good. That’s why he served it.

But Eric only smiles at him, warm and endearing and open. “I’m glad.”

Jack wants to say something else, but he’s not sure what to say, so he stays quiet and eats the pie, and Eric leaves--of course he does, he has a bakery to run, but a few minutes later he’s back, and sliding a cup across the counter.

“A cup of coffee and a slice of pie just go together,” Eric says brightly.

“Oh, of course,” Jack reaches for his wallet, but Eric blinks at him before waving it away.

“What? No, it’s on the house, silly.” He pauses. “You’re the type to take it black, aren’t you?”

Jack nods. “Knew it! Well, no accounting for taste. You’ve got good taste in baked goods, anyway.” He winks again, and Jack takes a sip of the coffee because his throat is suddenly very dry.

 

\---

 

Bitty was _not_ expecting Jack Zimmermann to walk into his shop today, but he is so far from complaining. The man is quiet and a little awkward, but so endearing about it. Bitty sort of wants to wrap him in blankets and feed him.

He has to giggle at that thought too, just imagining it. Well, he can do the feeding part, anyway.

“What’s so funny?” Jack asks, and Bitty starts. Right. He’s still _here_.

“Never you mind,” he says, because no he is not going to go down that path.

The door chimes as it’s thrown open, and Bitty looks up just in time to see Shitty fly into the bakery and fling himself down on the chair in front of Bitty. So right next to Jack. “Bits,” he moans, head in his hands. “Do me a solid and give me the works--I can’t right now, I just can’t. Those fucking ableist assholes are trying to argue against the new speaking crosswalks and I _can’t even_ right now.”

Bitty pats Shitty on the head and goes to get him a slice of key lime curd, a slice of pecan, and a double chocolate brownie with a scoop of ice cream.

He just hears, as he’s coming in with the ice cream, “Oh hey! It’s you! Hey man, what’re you doing up here?” Bitty fairly runs back in order to get Jack’s reply.

Which ends up being, “I promised to stop by. He said something about pie.”

Bitty’s _heart_.

Shitty laughs and claps Jack on the back. Jack looks slightly surprised by the show of camaraderie, but Shitty just continues on like he always does. “I feel you, bro. Bitty’s pies are the shit; definitely worth making every and all trips. What’d he fix you up with?”

“Apple,” Jack says, glancing down at his empty plate.

Bitty sets Shitty’s order down in front of him and smiles over at Jack. “Did you want to try anything else? Since you apparently made the trip over here _just_ to taste my baking, and goodness does _that_ not ever sound like a compliment!”

Jack honest to god _blushes_. “I… suppose I could try something else,” he said. “And I’d uh, I’d like to take a pie or two back with me, maybe? Share it with the guys?”

“Can _do_ , Mr. Zimmermann.” Though Bitty’s not sure “a pie or two” will be enough if Jack’s planning on sharing with the whole team. “Preference on flavor?”

“I liked the apple. Maybe one of those. And um, I know that Guy and Marty both like pecan pie.”

“One apple, one pecan,” Bitty says with a nod. “Or...maybe make that two of each? If you’re planning on sharing with your whole group?” And that is a _thought_ . The Falconers eating his cake was one thing, but the team eating his pie, specifically pie that Jack _brought_ them because he _personally came to Bitty’s to pay a visit_ is a whole different world.

“Oh. Yeah.” Jack smiles. “That’s a good idea. Two of each, then.”

“Done and done,” Bitty replies. “I’ll package those up for you in just a minute. But before that, what else can I get you?”

“Key lime’s fucking awesome,” Shitty offers, already finished with his own piece and halfway through the pecan. “Not that everything else isn’t awesome, but you’re gonna be trying the pecan already, so might was well spread the tasting around, am I right?”

“Actually,” Jack hesitates and looks up at Bitty. “You said something about a peach pie, before?”

The fact that Jack keeps remembering these little throw-away comments is _doing things_ to Bitty. “I did,” he smiles. “Would you like a slice of that? I do seem to recall you saying you liked peaches.” Shitty’s eyes widen and then he starts to _grin_. Bitty pays him no mind, keeping his attention squarely on Jack.

“Yes, please. And another cup of coffee?”

“Sure thing!”

The door chimes again, more people coming in, so Bitty hurries away to get Jack his order and box up the pies to make sure they don’t get cut into. Apple goes _fast_ and while he always bakes plenty, it’s a good idea to set the pies aside. By the time he comes back there’s a bit of a line-up, and he and Lardo and busy taking orders and serving customers. Normally Bitty spends his time half in and half out of the kitchen--he loves the baking, but interacting with his clientele is just as important, but Tango had a final he was so worried about that Bitty gave him the day to study, and Whiskey’s in class during this shift time, so they’re down one staff member at the front as it is.

When he glances over at Jack again, he’s listening to Shitty with a look of deep concentration, as Shitty waves his arms around and talks about probably gender socialization or differently abled rights or the still-stifling homophobic situation that plagues the Pro Sports world of today.

Jack looks like he’s in no hurry to leave.

When the rush finally dies down, Bitty sends Lardo on a break. She immediately grabs a muffin and cup of coffee and sits down next to Shitty. With the lull at the counter, Bitty parks himself in front of the little group

“They all really liked their sculptures,” Jack is telling Lardo. “I know that like half of them took theirs home. And I think Snowy or Tater grabbed all the other ones. They were really good.”

“Thanks,” Lardo says, her lips quirked up.

Jack shrugs. “You weren’t there to see all the reactions. I wanted you to know how good you were.”

“Well hey, I know I’m good. But always nice to hear it again.”

“You said you were an artist, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Eric said that you weren’t at the party because you had an exhibition. Do you have any pictures of your work anywhere?”

“Right here,” she says, pulling out her phone. “You uh, you wanna see?”

“Please.” Jack leans forward, looking earnest. “I’d love to see what else you can do. I uh--I don’t really know much about art, but I like to take photos, sometimes.”

“And you do those awesome drawings of teams logos and stuff!” Shitty interjects. “I’ve seen those face-offs you do with the other guys! You’ve got skills, bro.”

Jack ducks his head, face coloring again, and Lardo starts flipping through her phone to show Jack pictures. Bitty has to retreat to the back to clutch at his chest and absolutely not think about the fact that Jack Zimmermann is an _adorable human being_.

When he re-emerges, Jack has his own phone out and he’s telling Lardo and Shitty about how one of the PR team showed him how to use instagram, and he likes to post pictures of things that make him happy.

“Bits! You should check this out,” Lardo waves him over. Jack hesitates for a second, but then he holds out his phone so Bitty can peer down at it. There’s a picture of a sunset, and then one of condensation on some arena glass, and then a picture of a dog.

Bitty actually finds himself speechless for a few moments, while he processes this. Lardo and Shitty are giving him very noticeable (and very unappreciated!) looks. “Well!” he ends up settling on, “They’re all… they’re all very nice, Jack.” And it might come out softer than he’d intended, a little more heartfelt, but there’s nothing to be done about that.

“Thanks,” Jack says, shifting in his seat.

But staring at Jack’s instagram (and Bitty is definitely going to start following him) gets Bitty thinking about social media, and how _amazing_ it would be to ask Jack for a picture in his shop. That would be some endorsement.

He gets all the way to, “Jack, could I--” before he stops, wishing he could swallow his words back up. Jack came here, and is talking to Bitty’s friends, and he’s more than just a potential advertisement. Actually thinking it over, the idea puts a sour taste in Bitty’s mouth.

“Could you what?” Jack asks, because of course he does.

Bitty shakes his head. “Nothing. I was--could I follow you on instagram?” It’s not even a lie.

“You want to?” Jack sounds surprised.

“Of course! Your pictures are real nice. Do you have a twitter too?” He smiles. “I have a mean twitter game.”

“I… _have_ a twitter. I don’t do anything with it though. Dana does.”

“Well I’ll follow it anyhow, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack nods, then looks at his phone again. “I should get going,” he says. “If I want to drive back and beat traffic.”

“Oh yes! Of course!” Bitty had actually forgotten for a second that Jack didn’t just belong in his bakery. “Let me go get your pies!”

“And I want that twitter!” Shitty says, as Bitty runs to the kitchen. “Instagram too! We gotta continue our conversation--”

“I’d like that."

Lardo and Jack are both at the register when Bitty re-emerges, and Bitty sputters a little over the idea of Jack paying, but Jack frowns and says seriously, “of course I’m going to pay. I can’t take things for free from you.”

“You can if I wanna _give_ it,” Bitty says, but doesn’t press. “How often am I gonna be able to say Jack Zimmermann ate my food?”

Jack smiles then, and says, “Well, often enough, if I’m allowed to come back?”

Bitty blinks dumbly at him, and Jack chuckles. It’s a very nice sound, throaty, and Bitty does not know what to do with himself. “Let me see,” he says, to cover, “Jack Zimmermann wants to keep coming back to my little bakery. I _suppose_ I’ll let him, if he’s good.”

“I can be good,” Jack grins.

_Lord in heaven_ is this flirting? Are they flirting? With anybody _else_ this would be flirting. Who in their _right mind_ called this man a robot? “Prove it to me next time,” Bitty manages. “Actually share those goods with your team and _don’t_ eat it all yourself.”

“I’ll try my best.” Then Jack nods at Shitty and Lardo, smiles at Bitty one more time, and leaves out the door.

Bitty flees to the kitchen before Shitty and Lardo can give him any grief.

Thirty seconds later, Shitty comes back. “Lardo sent me,” he says. “And when she says jump--”

“You fall head over heels off a cliff,” Eric says, pressing his hands over his eyes. “Don’t you dare say anything.”

“What would I say?” Shitty asks. “That Jack Zimmermann, of the Falconers, drove an _hour_ specifically to sit in your bakery and eat your pie? That he went out of his way, in his no doubt busy, professional NHL-playing schedule, to see you again after that fateful, tear-stained hug during a Food Network Challenge? That he flirted with you the whole time? That he is, I admit, a man with excellent fucking taste?”

“Oh my god _stop_. He’s not allowed to flirt with me! I can’t do anything about it!”

“You can flirt right back,” Shitty grins. “And keep him glued to every word you say.” He wipes away an imaginary tear.“My little itty Bitty, growing up so fast, romancing hockey players with his pies--”

“I am _two years_ younger than you--”

“And about to score!” Shitty beams at him. “He said he’d be coming back. And the last time he said he’d come see you, he fucking _did it_. Just now, if I remember correctly.”

“Go away,” Bitty says. “Shoo, you are not about to get my hopes up, I can do that just fine without outside interference. Go moon over Lardo.”

“Aw Bits. Low blow.”

“I have a bakery to run! And pie crust to put in the freezer! And you have--lawyer things to do! Something something ableism!”

And Shitty, thankfully, actually lets it drop for now, immediately launching into a tirade about zoning laws and crosswalks.

Two hours later, Bitty’s phone buzzes, and then doesn’t stop buzzing. When he checks it, he’s gotten several twitter notifications for DMs to @bittysbakery, his public twitter.

DM from @realjackZimmermann: Hi. I asked pr how to send messages on this.

DM from @realjackZimmermann: This is Jack by the way.

DM from @realjackZimmermann: ...probably you could tell from the name, haha.

_@realjackZimmermann is now following you on twitter._

Bitty does not know how this is his life, but he _does not mind_.

 

\---

 

Jack feels pretty stupid after sending the second twitter message, and sending the third one makes him feel even stupider, but he can’t figure out how to delete them and doesn’t even know if he _can_ so he just leaves it at that and hopes that Eric won’t judge him too harshly.

...who is he kidding, he’d probably relish Eric twitter-ing him to tell him that his social media game is off. Jack knows it perfectly well anyway.

He decides to go for a run to put it out of his mind, and of course he doesn’t take his phone because why would he take his phone on a run? So when he gets back home, it’s to several messages, all from twitter.

DM from @bittysbakery: Hi Jack! It was nice to see you again. Feel free to come by anytime! =D 

& not just for the pie, though you're welcome to that too!

DM from @bittysbakery: Warn me next time you’re planning on coming up! I’ll make you something special~

Jack can’t help but smile down at the message, and he carefully types out his reply

DM from @realjackZimmermann: I’ll let you know. Looking forward to it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad you guys are liking my story so far! It might be getting away from me a little bit, because it's getting longer than I expected it to be. Hope you enjoy this next installment!

The team demolishes the pies, and they all chirp him incessantly for getting them in the first place, though they immediately stop when Jack threatens to not bring them _more_ pie the next time he visits Eric.

Of course, then they latch on to the “next time.” Tater in particular. He’s all for jumping into a car and making the drive to Bitty’s _that minute_. Which Jack immediately vetos because they do have skating practice and it’s not even a cheat day, even if Jack did bring pies to share. (Jack doesn’t have full days, over cheat meals, and he had saved a cheat meal for Bitty’s.)

“ _Fine_ ,” Tater huffs. “But next time, you are bringing me, yes?”

“You could go by yourself, you know,” Jack says before he can think better of it. And he’s not sure why the thought of Tater going to see Eric and Jack _not_ going to see Eric makes something inside him twist, but it does.

Tater just grins at him. “No, no, I wait to go. Is good excuse! And anyway,” he adds, lowering his voice, “Must be waiting for cheat day. Crystal, she not getting mad then.”

“She’ll get mad anyway, and you know it.” Jack smirks. “You just like making her mad.”

“Not so nice, Zimmboni! I never make Crystal angry on purpose!” Jack snorts. “Okay, okay,” Tater amends. “But is good fun. She makes us work hard. If I not am making _her_ hard work too, then she is not feeling appreciated.”

“Whatever you say.”

Tater nods, then smiles. “Cheat day three days away for me! Then we go?”

Jack blinks. That’s... soon. But soon is good. Soon sounds good to him. “I’ll ask.” And he pulls out his phone to twitter Eric.

@realjackZimmermann: would you mind if I brought Tater with me next time?

@realjackZimmermann: this Sunday? Is that okay for a next time?

Tater leans over his shoulder. “Zimmboni, you have his number?” He sounds delighted.

Jack shakes his head. “No, I have his twitter. Why would I have his number?”

“To _talk_ to him,” Tater says, waving his hands at Jack. “And also so to us, he sends pies and jam.”

Jack opens his mouth to chirp, _maybe_ you _should ask for his number then_ , before he clamps down on the thought. Because Tater probably would. “...maybe I will ask,” he ends up saying.

“There is a boy, Zimmboni!” Tater claps him on the back. “And when he is _your_ boy, you share baked goods with me!”

“Haha, right.” Jack knows it’s a joke. It’s obviously a joke. It can’t be anything _but_ a joke. The team has been… actually wonderful since finding out about Jack, but Shitty hadn’t been kidding when he’d gone into a rant about the homophobic press of Jack’s world. Jack’s been out for a few years now, wanting to just get it over with instead of letting the stress eat him up inside, but he’s pretty sure the reason he’s not news is because it’s not like he actually ever _dated_ anyone. So even though his team knows to chirp him about girls  _and_  guys, it doesn’t mean much. Jack doesn’t bother pursuing relationships. Tater knows that well enough. It’s hard to get to know someone when Jack’s busy with hockey.

His phone buzzes, and it’s a message from Eric.

@bittysbakery: Of course! Bring him on down! I’ll have a special pie waiting for you, Mr. Zimmermann. And some limonnik for our Russian =D

“What’s a limonnik?” Jack asks, showing Tater the message.

Tater lets out a peal of laughter. “Lymonnyk! Is lemon pie! I love it very much.” He ruffles Jack’s hair. “You better make some moves, Zimmboni, or I will!

DM from @realjackZimmermann: Maybe don’t give him pie. He’s going to ask to marry you.

DM from @bittysbakery: Well SOMEone’s gotta make an honest man of me ( ˘ ³˘)♥

Jack stares at his phone, and hides it when Tater leans over his shoulder to try to see.

 

\---

 

The bakery is very crowded when Jack and Tater show up Sunday afternoon, having made the drive together after morning skate (and lunch, Jack was not about to let a _hungry_ Tater loose in any bakery, much less Bitty’s). It’s a little surprising, because while Bitty’s was busy when Jack had visited on Thursday, it was nothing like this.

He’s about to write it off as some sort of weekend rush when he spots several different people wearing Falconers shirts, just before they all stand up to rush towards him and Tater, and Jack’s heart sinks.

Tater takes it well, smiling and nodding and signing things, but Jack can see that even he’s a little taken aback.

“Hey, MOVE IT!” Lardo yells, shoving her way through the crowd. She grabs Tater’s wrist and Jack’s sleeve and starts walking. They’re both too surprised not to follow her.

They end up in the kitchen, in front of an anxious Eric who is wringing his hands together. He’s got a smear of something on one cheek and his apron is a _mess_.

“Oh my goodness you’re finally here, it’s been like this all morning.” Eric wipes his hands on his apron. “Jack, Jack I’m so sorry that I didn’t think of it but that message you tweeted to my bakery’s twitter about coming on Sunday was public, you didn’t use a private message and so, um, so I think it got out that you’d be coming and we’ve just been _mobbed_ I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Jack says, taken aback. “I didn’t… I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about that.” It’s his fault, he realizes. His fault that there are three people working Eric’s counter, and the reason Eric is so stressed.

Something must show on his face because Eric immediately holds up his hands. “I’m just sorry you didn’t get a more private visit! The business is--well that’s _fine_ you know, I just--I feel bad. It’s not right for you to be mobbed like this, when you just wanna enjoy a nice piece of pastry.”

“Jack,” Tater says seriously, “We can go?”

Jack is considering it, because while he can deal with fans and he appreciates them for letting him play hockey and he doesn’t _mind_ signing autographs and getting his picture taken, he hadn’t expected to have to do it _here_. At least, not more than he usually does out and about. He had been hoping for… something else.

But then Eric looks at the both of them, these two comically large hockey players in his little kitchen and nods decisively and says, “No. No, you both came all this way to my shop, there is no way you are leaving without me feeding you. I baked things _special_. If you don’t mind eating back here, you’re welcome to what I’ve got.”

“Eric,” Tater says, when Jack stays silent, “Very nice for you, but we can’t be imposing.”

“Not an imposition,” Eric says, with a sniff. “You came here to eat, I have food. Here, lemme just--” he goes to an enormous refrigerator and disappears inside, then comes back out balancing a pie on each hand.

“This one I gotta warm up,” he says, hefting the one in his right hand, “But the limonnik here is great cold.” He sets it down on a clear bit of counter and rustles up two plates and forks, plating slices of the pie and handing them over. “I’m sorry that I don’t have seats in here for you two. Or wait--I do have some folding chairs that I keep back here--”

“It’s fine,” Jack says, because he really needs to say _something_ and Eric is… Eric is doing more than he really has to, inviting them back into his kitchen to hide. Actually _keeping_ the business draw out of sight. And then giving them pie to boot. “It’s… thank you.”

“Thank me after you’ve tasted it,” Eric says with a wink.

“Thank you!” Tater says immediately, mouth full of pie. “Delicious! So familiar, reminds me of home.”

“Aw, I’m glad,” Eric says, putting the second pie in an oven. “I’ve never had it myself, so I just followed a recipe and guessed on the taste.

“Good job,” Tater nods, giving Eric a thumbs-up. “Zimmboni, you try this!”

Jack obediently takes a bite. It is very good. He’s getting the feeling that he’ll be thinking that a lot, with Eric’s baking. “It’s great,” he says, eating some more.

“Eat as much as you two like,” Eric says, “Though Jack, you better leave room for my apple pie.”

“I’ve already tried the apple pie,” Jack says. “I mean, not that it wasn’t also great--”

“But you were expectin’ something special. I know. Don’t you fret, I’ve got a special, maple-crusted apple pie heating up for you.”

“Maple crusted?”

“Mm-hm. Figured, since you’re so Canadian you’d--” Eric stops to cover a wide yawn. “Goodness, sorry about that.” He rubs underneath one eye, smearing flour there. “Normally I’d be upstairs taking a nap right now, but we had such a rush that I didn’t think the place could spare me.”

“Nap upstairs?” Tater asks, momentarily distracted from pie.

“Mm. I rent out the whole building. That includes the apartment above it too.” Eric laughs. “I know it sounds like such a storybook cliche, but it’s just about the best thing to ever happen to me. And it means I can sneak away and take a quick nap after being up baking since six in the morning.”

“I understand,” from Tater. “We nap too! Early mornings, late nights, so naps are good in the middle.” He cuts himself another slice of the limonnik, and Jack can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

Eric is staring at him, when Jack glances over again. “Eric?”

Eric blinks hard and shakes his head. “Sorry! The day’s just been running me ragged I think. Speaking of which, I should probably pop back out there and see what’s going on. Back in a sec!”

There’s a momentary quiet, broken only by the sounds of eating pie. Then Tater says very seriously, “Okay Zimmboni, I meant it, you get his number.”

“Very funny.”

“I sound like make joke? No joke!”

“Seriously Tater, that’s--” Eric comes back in. He looks frantic.

“There’s a news crew at my front door,” he says, tugging at his hair. “Why is there a news crew outside my building?”

Jack covers his face with a hand. “I am so sorry.”

“I sent Whiskey out for reconnaissance and they’re reporting on Jack Zimmermann and Alexei Mashkov visiting Eric Bittle’s bakery, whom they met on their recent appearance on Food Network Challenge. And they tried to interview him about your relationship with me? Because apparently that is news? _Why_ is that news.” Eric looks like he’s about to _cry_ . Jack has to fight down the impulse to hug him. “I am _so sorry_ ,” he continues, “I never thought ya’ll would get like, _trapped_ here.”

“Eric,” Jack sighs. “It’s really fine. And if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I should have realized it might turn into something like this. Things um, things do, when I express an interest that isn’t hockey-related.”

“You just wanted to eat pie in peace!”

“We can still be doing that,” Tater interjects. “Am doing that right now!”

Eric looks at him and nods, “Right then.” He walks over to the oven, “Looks like the maple-apple’s nice and warm. You got any room left?”

“Yes,” Tater says enthusiastically. “I only ate half lymonnyk in anticipating.”

“I’d love to try it,” Jack says.

“Great. At least you’re getting something out of all this.” He slips on a pair of floral oven mitts and pulls the pie out of the oven, plating it quickly and handing the out pieces.

“If ya’ll don’t mind, I’m gonna actually get to baking. We’re out of shortbread _and_ lemon bars and I should probably whip up another batch of each before I collapse.”

Jack stops before he takes a bite of the apple pie. “Could I help?”

Eric stares. “Excuse me?”

Jack shifts, feeling awkward. “I uh. I just--it’s my fault you’re so busy. And you missed your nap.” Jack understood the importance of naps, especially when they were routine and relied upon. “So if I can help somehow. I mean, I don’t know a lot about baking, but I’m a set of hands.” He tries for a smile. “And I follow directions pretty well.”

“Also me!”

“I--well uh,” Eric says, eyes wide. “I… appreciate the offer. And normally I’d be all for it. But we’re just so busy, it’d probably be easier if I got to work myself. And you two came to eat and enjoy, not get shifted into labor. And!” he adds, glancing at Jack’s plate, “Jack Zimmermann you have not even _tried_ the pie yet.”

“For shame on you,” Tater says, shaking his head.

Jack laughs, at just--the ludicrousness of the situation and takes a bite. He might moan just a little bit. It’s _good_. He says as much to Eric, who blushes beet red.

They sit there in companionable silence, eating pie as Eric gets to work mixing eggs and sugar and flour and butter, and it’s soothing, watching him work. He’s got an easy rhythm and he looks so _comfortable_ in the kitchen, working away. It’s really nice.

Jack could almost forget that there is a literal news crew on the other side of the wall, waiting for him.

In the end, Eric suggests that Jack and Tater sneak out the back. “Give em what they deserve and avoid them entirely,” Eric says, frowning. “They wanna ask you about your preference of baked goods they can do it away from my shop. You’ve got lives outside of hockey and giving interviews!

“...thanks Eric.” Jack says, touched. He knows perfectly well that Eric’s turning down a lot of extra publicity, doing this. Jack’s also holding a boxed maple-apple pie, because Eric made him _two_ . Tater’s got his own box, filled with a variety of goods. Eric refused to let either of them pay. _I got plenty just from the extra business you two accidentally brought in._ “That’s… thank you.”

Eric suddenly colors again, and adds, “Also here, if--and you don’t have to of course, but would you like to exchange numbers? If you wanna keep coming here. And I certainly wouldn’t mind that! But this way you could, you know, check ahead to make sure we’re not too busy. I could let you know when things die down. If you wanted.”

“No, that’s a good idea,” Jack says, pulling out his phone. This way he can’t make another twitter mistake. And he’d really _like_ to have Eric’s number. “Here, I’ll give you mine and you can text me?”

“Sure!”

Jack rattles off his number, soon enough his phone buzzes with a message: _And now you have my number :)_ and Eric is smiling up at him.

Jack smiles back.

The look Tater gives him is very smug.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I sound like a broken record, but a really heartfelt thank you to all the readers who left me comments. They've been really wonderful, and I'm so glad you're liking this little story of mine.

@bittysbakery: Please be mindful of ALL of our customers. We're a homey establishment that just wants to offer a place to eat delicious treats in peace.

@bittysbakery: Limited menu items! Mini-pies in maple-apple and lovely lemon!

Bitty honestly spends way too much time staring at his phone over the next couple of days. Part of him is internally screaming over the fact that he has Jack Zimmermann’s number. The other parts is freaking out because forget Jack Zimmermann the professional hockey player (though who could really forget) hello Jack Zimmermann the slightly awkward but adorably endearing man. 

Who offered to  _ help Bitty bake _ during that crazy fan-based rush.

Who made friends with Shitty and Lardo and, apparently, according to Lardo, tracked down Lardo’s gallery exhibit to buy one of her pieces.

And, possibly most importantly, who has actually been texting Bitty. 

A lot.

When Bitty had been given Jack’s number, he’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t take advantage and would only use it to let Jack know when things settled down a bit at the bakery. But he’d also, of course, figured that he’d respond to anything Jack said, in the unlikely event Jack would say anything at all.

Bitty might have been incorrect in the assumption that Jack wouldn’t. Instead, Jack has just been… texting Bitty to tell him things about his day. They’re often very spaced out, as if Jack sends a message and then goes to do something that takes a lot of time (like skating practice? Working out?) but sometimes there are several that come one right after another, like Jack just decides to text Bitty during his downtime. Sometimes he sends pictures. It’s been kind of amazing.

So Bitty has been staring at his phone even more than usual, and it pings again just as he’s putting a set of cupcakes in the oven. When he checks his messages, Jack has sent him a picture of red sweatshirt with a sketch of an octopus on the front.

8:16AM Jack Z: They’re the Red Wings, but half their merch looks like this. Funny, eh?

Bitty literally cannot.

8:19AM Eric Bittle: Give me a Falconers sweatshirt any day!

He goes back to mixing frostings, a little surprised when his phone buzzes again almost immediately. He’d have expected Jack to be busy right now.

8:20AM Jack Z: Would you like one?

Bitty stares at his phone.

8:21AM Eric Bittle: I’m sorry?

8:22AM Jack Z: Would you like a Falconers sweatshirt? What size are you?

8:22AM Jack Z: Probably a size small?

8:23AM Eric Bittle: I am a NORMAL SIZE thank you very much Mr. Zimmermann!

8:23AM Eric Bittle: ...but yes. Yes I wear a size s. 

8:23AM Eric Bittle: You don’t need to get me a sweatshirt! THOSE PIES WERE FREE.

8:24AM Jack Z: Okay.

8:24AM Jack Z: Have things calmed down any?   


8:25AM Eric Bittle: A little! We’re still getting more business than usual thanks to the Food Network broadcast and, well, your tweet. And the news. But it hasn’t been crazy mobbed like Sunday was. I get naps again!

After Bitty sends that last text, he resolutely sets his phone down on the counter and refuses to look at it until he finishes the frosting for the cupcakes. Then he takes the chilled custard tarts out of the refrigerator and sets them up front, smiling at Tango, who’s working register today. After he’s back in the kitchen, he starts another batch of all-or-nothing cookie dough and puts it in the fridge to cool, and finally, he takes out his finished cupcakes and puts those down to cool also.

_ Then  _ he picks up his phone. He has several messages from Jack.

8:27AM Jack Z: I’m glad you’re able to get your naps again. 

8:28AM Jack Z: I’ll let you know the next time I have a free afternoon? I would like to come back.

8:31AM Jack Z: If that’s okay.

9:03AM Eric Bittle: Perfectly okay! Looking forward to seeing you again!

 

\---

 

The next afternoon, Bitty is finishing up the crust that will be chilling for tomorrow’s pies when Chowder comes back to get him. Chowder’s in town visiting his girlfriend for the week, and they’ve both been spending an awful lot of time at Bitty’s. Enough time that Lardo and Bitty have sometimes roped them into helping out, in exchange for baked goods.

Not that Bitty wouldn’t give Chowder them anyway, but it’s not as if Chowder doesn’t  _ like  _ helping out. 

“Bitty!” Chowder’s carrying a package. “Are you busy? This just came for you! Express mail! Did you order fancy chocolate again?”

Bitty blinks at him. “I haven’t ordered anything that should be arriving today.” Besides, he usually gets all his orders on Tuesdays. Getting something on a Saturday is a little out of the blue. “Here, set it down there, and give me just a sec. I’m almost done.”

Chowder sets the box on the kitchen island, then wisely steps back and watches Bitty from afar. Bitty had done his level best to teach Chowder any sort of baking skill at all, but Chowder was never really able to...make things stick, when it came to baking. He was an amazing goalie though, getting scouted right after graduation. It made it harder on him, having a long-distance relationship with Farmer, who was getting her Master’s at Samwell, but he was also living the dream playing for the Barracudas. They made it work.

Bitty finishes the crust, divides it up, wraps it, and then puts it in to chill. Then he turns to the box. 

“I can’t imagine what it might be,” he says, curious, as he gets out a box cutter from the “misc tools” drawer Dex had insisted on setting him up with. He opens the box and all he sees is blue fabric. He’s whispering “ _ No, _ ” even as he pulls out the sweatshirt.

“Oh hey!” Chowder exclaims. “A Falconers sweatshirt! Cool! They’re a pretty good team. I saw that show they were on with you! Tater’s funny, isn’t he? But um, the sweatshirt looks kind of big? For you? If it’s for you?”

The sweatshirt is a large. It’ll  _ swim  _ on Bitty. “Jack Zimmermann you did  _ not _ .” But that’s not all there is.

Underneath the large in the obviously carefully-packaged-so-that-the-large-would-be-on-top box is another Falconers sweatshirt, this one actually a small. 

The last thing in the box is a Zimmermann jersey, also a size small. Pinned to it (actually _ safety-pinned  _ to it) is a note.

_ Hope it all fits. _

-Jack

“Jack Zimmermann you did  _ not _ ,” Bitty says again, unable to comprehend what has just happened.

“Did… did Jack Zimmermann send you a bunch of Falconers stuff?” Chowder asks, peering down over the fabric pooling out of the box. “Oh and his jersey! Cool!” He smiles, ducking his head. “I remember when I got my Barracuda’s Jersey. I sent one to Caitlyn like, the next day.”

“What?”

Chowder nods and blushes. “Yeah, it’s a whole thing! You give your jersey to the people you want to wear your name, you know?” He eyes the box with interest. “So Jack Zimmermann? Bitty that’s great! He seems like a great guy!”

Bitty opens his mouth. No words come out. Chowder immediately backtracks. “Or… not?” And then he frowns, leaning forward, and Bitty has only ever seen that expression before when Chowder was in his gear between the posts. “Is he bothering you? Tango told me he came here with Tater the other day. Do you need me to tell him to back off?”

“Chowder, sweet goalie child,” Bitty says, holding up a hand, “I need you to back up one whole thought for me. I’m still stuck on the idea that Jack might’ve sent me this stuff as a--as a symbol of his intent.”

“Oh.” Chowder’s frown turns a lot more confused and a lot less menacing. “Well! It might not be? I don’t actually know... um. A lot! There’s a lot I don’t know! Did you guys become friends?”

Bitty eyes the box. “I… suppose we did. We’ve been texting?”

“Oh! Well, maybe he just sent it to you because you’re his friend. Why did he send you such a  big sweatshirt though? I mean, since he also sent you a smaller one. He couldn’t have been  _ that _ confused over what size to get you.” Chowder’s eyes widen. “I mean!”

“I know what you mean,” Bitty says drily. “And I think it was a joke?” He shows Chowder the note.

“Oh, ha,” Chowder laughs. “That’s really funny!”

Bitty can’t help but chuckle too. “It is, isn’t it.” And then he gets an idea. He checks the package and  _ yes _ , it looks as though Jack actually put his own return address down.

He doesn’t acknowledge the gift, even when some of Jack’s texts that day have leading questions, asking if anything interesting happened. Bitty just tells him about the philosophy major who tried to chat Tango up. It was  _ amazing _ . 

Jack asks all the right questions to spur Bitty into recounting the story as hilariously as possible, and then he tells Bitty about Thirdy’s poetry, and the package seems to be forgotten. Or if it isn’t, Jack isn’t pressing.

 

\---

 

Two days later, Jack gets a package in the mail. 

_ Thank you! And I appreciate you sending a variety of sizes. Here’s the one that didn’t fit! _

-Eric

When Jack pulls out the size-small sweatshirt, he throws back his head and laughs.

6:17PM Jack Zimmermann: I got your package.

6:17PM Jack Zimmermann:  Though you didn’t have to send the sweatshirt back just to make a point.

He’s debating whether or not he should try to send some sort of smiley face to assure Eric that he was joking, when Eric texts him back.

6:23PM Eric Bitty Bittle: Now why in the world would I keep something that was too small?

6:23PM Eric Bitty Bittle: But seriously, thank you. You didn’t have to do that. And I like the big one! It’s comfy. 

6:24PM Jack Zimmermann: I got two different laughs out of it. I consider that worth it. I’m glad you like it.

He tries to imagine Eric wearing the overlarge sweatshirt, sleeves dropping down over his hands, the shirt itself coming down to his thighs, and ends up clutching his phone tight in one hand. He doesn’t realize until too late that he just texted Eric a string of gibberish. He berates himself for that, frozen on what to do, when he gets a text back.

6:25PM Eric Bitty Bittle: :) :) ??? Was this a butt text Mr. Zimmermann?

Jack exhales a laugh, anxiety gone. Eric makes talking so  _ easy _ . 

6:26PM Jack Zimmermann: Yes, sorry.

Then, because he was going to ask Eric about it anyway, he sends out another text.

6:27PM Jack Zimmermann: I actually have a free afternoon next Monday. Would I be able to drop by?

He waits a couple minutes for Eric’s reply and when it doesn’t come, starts to worry. Should he not have asked Eric if he could come by? Was that being creepy? Eric liked the sweatshirt gift but maybe that and the jersey and now this was too much? They’ve been talking an awful lot lately, mostly because of Jack, should he not have--

His phone buzzes. And buzzes again, and then again. Jack scrambles to unlock it.

6:35PM Eric Bitty Bittle: In the interests of full disclosure, I need to tell you that Bitty’s is actually closed on Mondays.

6:35PM Eric Bitty Bittle: THAT BEING SAID might I also add that it would be wonderful if you were able to come by, and then you wouldn’t have to worry about the possible fan storm either. It’s not like I don’t bake on my days off too  (●´ω｀●)

6:36PM Eric Bitty Bittle: Of course, I also know that you live like an hour away please don’t feel obligated to pay a visit if you don’t want to. I can figure out how to ship a pie!!

Jack reads the messages over a few times, before he takes a deep breath. He’s spent a lot of time being told he doesn’t have to be afraid of his limits, his needs, or his wants. That sometimes he’s allowed to do things or not do things just because. Optional skate can  _ be _ optional, it’s not his responsibility to shoulder a loss alone, and…

And his team knows, about him. George knows. Technically the world knows, even though it’s been pretty much forgotten. Well. Until recently. 

But. 

He’s allowed to want.

6:39PM Jack Zimmermann: I do want to.

6:39PM Jack Zimmermann: Maybe we could get dinner? If you’re free.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to marswithghosts for being so supportive and helpful! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading. Hope you enjoy!

6:40PM Eric Bittle: LARDO. LARDO, JACK ASKED ME TO DINNER??

6:40PM Eric Bittle: LARDO WHAT DO I DO

6:41PM Lardo: You calm down and say yes?

6:41PM Lardo: You’ve been texting with him constantly for like a week, bro

Bitty gives up and just calls her. She picks up on the second ring. “That was just--harmless flirting! What does a dinner invite mean?”

“Hi Bits, what’s up?”

“Lardo!” Bitty is already pulling out butter, shouldering his phone to free up his hands. “I am having an actual crisis!”

“Why.”

“Jack Zimmermann just asked me to dinner!”

“And this is… a bad thing?”

“No!” Bitty throws butter and sugar together so they start to cream. “It’s amazing!”

“So the problem is…?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know why I’m freaking out!”

“ _Breathe_ , Bits. Actually like, think about this. Why are you freaking out?”

Bitty pauses to inhale and exhale. And turn off his mixer. “I guess… I guess because it’s one thing to flirt with someone, and it’s another thing to actually know they might be interested in you? I mean, Lardo, he’s the Captain for the Falconers! He _won the Cup._ But he’s _really nice_ . And--okay he’s _super_ hot but he also has this dry sense of humor, and he’s easy to talk to?”

There is a long pause, then, “Jack Zimmermann is easy to talk to. The same guy I met at the competition and last week?”

“Yes?”

“What do you talk about?”

“I don’t know,” Bitty says, grabbing eggs out of the refrigerator. “Just… stuff? He sends me pictures of things, or tells me about stuff that happened in practice, or asks me about my day. I don’t know! I just--he’s endearing.”

“He’s awkward.”

“Well yes, that too. But it’s cute.”

“So go to dinner with him.”

“I _want_ to!”

“Then Bits, you are literally the only thing stopping yourself. What did you even say when he asked you?”

Bitty freezes. “Oh my god I didn’t say anything! I called you!”

“Bits!”

“I love you, I’m sorry, I’ll call you back later and bring you streusel cake!” He hangs up on her. Stares at his phone for a second, getting an idea. The he shrugs because, to hell with it, and calls Jack for the first time. It rings and rings and _rings_ and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, Bitty thinks he’s made a mistake. Then--

“Hello?” Jack sounds slightly out of breath.

“Hi Jack! Um, it’s Eric. Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, I was just--no. It’s not. Hi.”

“Hi. Um. So. Dinner?”

“Yes,” Jack says promptly. “If you want to.”

“I really do. And actually--I was thinking, if maybe you wanted to have dinner at my place. Since you don’t really know the area, and you’d be making such a drive anyway--unless! Wait we can meet at someplace in the middle, of course, I’m so silly there’s no reason for you to come all the way to _me_ \--”

“Eric,” Jack interrupts. “I’d love to go to your place for dinner. But the point of me inviting you to dinner is to _take you out_ to dinner,” Jack sounds slightly exasperated, but Bitty thinks there’s a hint of a smile in his voice.

“Don’t you sass me, Mr. Zimmermann, I was _trying_ to offer you a nice, home cooked meal. Though I suppose going out would be nice. It’s amazing how running your own business keeps you from getting out very much.”

Jack chuckles, that nice, throaty sound. “I’d say I know the feeling, but it’s the opposite for me. I eat out a lot, what with being on the road so often. Though it isn’t usually at _nice_ places.”

“Gonna take me out somewhere nice, then?”

“If you’ll let me.”

“I guess we can postpone the home-cooked meal,” Bitty says.

“How do you feel about eating earlier?” Jack asks. “I know you probably keep baking hours. What would be a good time for you?”

Bitty is sort of touched that Jack thought about that. He’s up all hours of the night sometimes, but it’s true that with his life running a bakery he’s up earlier than he’d like to be on the regular, which means earlier dinner-times too.

“Want to do seven o’clock?” Bitty suggests. “Still early, but that way neither of us’ll get caught in rush hour, wherever we go.”

“Seven sounds great. I’ll text you the name and address of the place, when I find it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, good.”

A pause.

“...I don’t actually want to hang up yet,” Bitty admits.

“Me neither.” The admission is quiet. “I have some time if you do, if you’d like to just talk for a little bit?”

Bitty smiles. “I’d like that.

 

\---

 

They continue texting throughout each day, just like before, but by some unspoken rule they start to have nightly phone conversations too. One of them always texts the other, just to make sure they’re free and they just… talk. It’s nice.

Bitty also spends an inordinate amount of time looking up Falconers info. Because while he was a fan before, he hadn’t had a reason to know them _thoroughly_ . He keeps finding pictures of Jack and having to stop and stare at them, still not quite sure that this is real. And then trying not to get his hopes up because he _does_ like Jack, and finds him attractive (goodness _yes_ he does), and he is very much looking forward to dinner on Monday (two more days!!), but Bitty has not had the best luck when it comes to dating. It’s weird, because he likes to think he’s a catch. He owns his own, successful business, he’s a snappy dresser, he’s a good person if he does say so himself, and he’s certainly someone who _believes_ in love.

So this thing with Jack is really nice, and Bitty wants it to go somewhere, because the more he talks to Jack, the more he finds himself liking him, but he also knows that it’d be stupid to try to overthink it until it _does_ go somewhere, because his track record is just simply not the best.

Meanwhile, it might be after nine on a Saturday, and Bitty’s already set for bed, wearing his overlarge Falconers sweatshirt and nothing else. He’s got some recipe books on the bed with him, because he always finds reading through them relaxing and today was _busy_ , but he’s debating actually closing his eyes because look at him, he’s a boring old adult.

His phone ringing is startling in the quiet and when he looks at the screen he sees that it’s Jack. He’s a little surprised, because Jack had already texted saying that he was going out to dinner with his teammates and didn’t know how late they’d keep him, so that he’d probably have to miss their phone call tonight.

“Hello?”

“Eric!” Tater’s voice booms at him. “Good evening!”

“Oh! Tater! Hello. Um. What can I do for you?” Very faintly, Bitty can hear, “ _Tater give that back! Tater!_ ” and laughter.

“I am calling for very important reasons,” Tater says. His accent is thicker than usual, but he’s also over-pronouncing every word. Bitty is pretty sure he’s drunk.

“Okay?”

“I’m learning from Jack he going soon to see you! Or I’m not learning from _Jack_ , but he ask to skip PR on Monday, and I figure it out!” He laughs. “Smart, yes?” And then, “Shh, Zimmboni, I am talking! Do not make scene!”

Bitty can’t help his smile, as he sets his books aside. Jack’s told him a lot about his teammates over the past two weeks, and Bitty is glad that he has such good friends. He kind of guesses that friends are hard, for Jack.  “Why yes, I’m gonna see Jack on Monday. We’re going out to dinner. Did you wanna scare me into preserving Jack’s honor?”

“What? No, no, is okay! Okay, okay, you get me? Jack very happy with you!”

Bitty then hears, “ _Tater!_ ” again, followed by exclamations in a variety of languages and a lot of banging. He waits patiently.

“Hello? Eric?”

“Jack!” Bitty laughs. “Fancy that.”

“I’m sorry about that, Tater stole my phone.”

“I noticed, honey.” The endearment is out before Eric can think about it. He coughs and continues on. “You still out with the boys, I’m guessing?”

“Boys would be right,” Jack says. “Considering they’re a bunch of _children_.” He raises his voice for the last sentence. Bitty can just make out raucous laughter, fading out in the background. Jack must be walking somewhere else, to get some distance. “I am sorry,” he says again. “I’m outside now. Did uh, did he bother you?”

Bitty laughs again. “Not even, don’t you worry. I think he was giving me permission to date you.”

There is sudden silence on the other line, and Bitty goes cold.

“I mean, um, it was--he was joking of course, I’m sure he was drunk but--”

“Eric.”

“Yes, Jack?”

“I. I would like to. Date you, I mean. I was… I was hoping that’s what the dinner would be.”

“Honey,” and this time the endearment is _meant_ , “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Bitty says softly, leaning back against his headboard. “Listen, it doesn’t have to be anything more than what it already is. I like talking with you Jack, and I’m looking forward to seeing you on Monday. Why don’t we go from there?”

“Yes, please. I mean, yes. I’d like that too. I like you a lot, Eric.”

“Well look at the two of us, liking each other,” Bitty smiles. “Now why don’t you go back to your friends and enjoy your night? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay. And you’re sure we didn’t bother you?”

“I am literally in bed, Jack. I wasn’t doing anything much.”

“He woke you _up_ ?” And oh _that_ is an interesting tone of voice.

“Don’t you fret, he did nothing of the sort. I wasn’t sleeping. Just relaxin’ after a busy day.” Then Bitty gets an _idea_. “I’m wearing your present, actually.”

“My--You are?”

“Mm-hm. I did tell you the sweatshirt was comfy. I don’t know if I’d wear it _out_ of the house, that’s what the jersey is for, but it’s perfect to wrap up in. I wouldn’t mind having you here, to wrap me up too.”

There is a string of Quebecois. “Sorry? What was that?”

“ _Eric_ ,” Jack says, sounding strangled. “I’m out with my team. You can’t--don’t-- _Crisse._ ”

“Too much?”

“No,” immediately, “Just--not the best. Venue.”

Bitty chuckles, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Really, go back to the guys and have fun.”

“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Looking forward to it,” Bitty replies. “And Jack?”

“Yes?”

“Think about me tonight? I give you permission and everything.”

“...I will.”

It sounds like a promise.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Thank you so much for reading. Your comments are all so great :)

Bitty is up at six the next day like usual, groaning as he pulls himself out of bed and into the bathroom. He’s in the shower, head against the tile dreaming of going back to bed when he remembers that it’s Sunday, so tomorrow is Monday, which means dinner with Jack.

He also remembers their exchange last night, and hopes that Jack had a very nice evening, thinking of him.

After he’s dressed, he grabs his phone, and is about to stick it in his pocket to head downstairs when he realizes he has messages.

5:07AM Jack Z: Going on a run. Hope you have a good day.

5:32AM Jack Z: I found a dog. [see attached photo]

6:12AM Jack Z: Don’t forget to eat breakfast. You skip it too much. You could use more protein.

This man.

6:27AM Eric Bittle: Do peanut butter cookies count as protein?

Bitty grins at his own message and pockets his phone. He does not eat breakfast, primarily because he has to wait until it’s a more reasonable hour for his stomach to wake up. He does, however, start a pot of coffee downstairs, and gets to work setting ovens to pre-heat and mixing up batters while he waits for it. Muffins he can make while half-asleep anyway, so he always starts them first, along with his breakfast cookies.

He waits for a response from Jack, because Jack usually does respond fairly quickly this early in the morning, especially when Bitty sends something silly. Nothing comes, however, so Bitty figures Jack got busy with the rest of his workout or his own breakfast.

It’s a good hour later, muffins and cookies finished and cooling, Bitty up to his elbows in custard for tarts, when his phone buzzes again, then starts to ring. He has to let the call go to voicemail, because custard filling waits for no man.

When all the custard has been poured and the tarts are dutifully setting, Bitty washes his hands again, then leans back against the counter to check his phone. He frowns, reading it, not really sure what it means.

7:32AM Jack Z: Don’t you fucking dare. I mean it, stay the fuck away.

_You have 1 missed call from Jack Z._

Bitty calls Jack, shouldering his phone while he picks up the tray of cooled muffins to take out front. The call goes to voicemail, and Bitty hangs up, not sure what to say. He gets all the muffins and all the cookies loaded up in the front case and is just taking his pie crust out in order to start putting it all into pans for blind baking when his phone starts to ring again, loud in the quiet kitchen.

It’s Jack.

“Hello?”

“Eric! Eric, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to send that to you. I--I was mad, and I pressed the wrong text box to reply.”

“It’s okay,” Bitty says, more than a little confused. “I mean--I kind of figured it was a wrong number? But what on earth made you so upset?”

The line goes quiet. “I don’t want to talk about,” Jack says eventually, voice hard.

“I--Okay?” Bitty says, unsure. “I didn’t mean to press, I just--”

“I said drop it! It’s none of your fucking business, Eric!” Bitty’s breath stutters, and he pulls the phone away from his ear at the volume. He’s trembling a little when he brings it back to hear, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I--I was talking to someone who gets under my skin a lot. He uh, he called and it was… one of those times. I didn’t mean--I’m sorry.”

But Bitty’s heart is still pounding; he does _not_ like being yelled at, even if apologies come right after. And he has a bunch of things to get in the oven, and he cannot have this conversation right now.

“Jack--” Bitty curses himself for how unsteady his voice comes out. He tries again, and manages a more even tone, this time, “Jack. I think I need to explain to you why what just you did was… not okay for me, but I can’t do it now because that requires time and attention I don’t have at the moment. So I just want to say that it’s not okay but I understand that you were upset, and I’d like to please talk about it more with you tonight.”

There’s silence on the other end.

“Jack?” Bitty asks, and his voice is wavering and he _doesn’t want it to_. “Jack I-I need to know you’ll do this for me. Otherwise I don’t know if--”

“Okay,” Jack says in a rush. “Yes. Yes, I’m sorry. I’ll make sure my evening is free. Just tell me what time.”

When they hang up, Bitty takes a second to just breathe and wipe at his eyes. It’s stupid that he’s getting teary over Jack snapping at him, but it’s still not all that long ago that big athletes with deep voices were threats, not friends.

It’ll be fine, Bitty tells himself. They’re going to talk about it like adults, and it’ll be fine.

In the meantime, he’s got pies to bake.

 

\---

 

Jack is a bundle of nerves by eight o’clock, the time he and Eric set aside for their conversation. Eric had insisted that they do it through skype, so that they could see each other’s faces, and Jack had instantly agreed.

Jack knows he has a temper. He’s been… better about controlling it and dealing with it, since he started playing professionally, able to channel the game instead of his anger. But he also knows that it gets the better of him sometimes, and it had today, first with Parse and then with Eric, and he just--

He hopes he hasn’t messed everything up before it’s even really started.

His laptop starts ringing, EBittle calling, and Jack accepts, making sure his video is turned on.

It’s nice to see Eric’s face. Except he looks apprehensive, and something inside Jack twists, to know that it was his fault.

“Hey,” he says, trying to smile. “It’s um, it’s good to see you.”

“Hi Jack,” Eric says quietly. Jack can only see him from the shoulders up, but he’s wearing blue. “It’s good to see you too. And let me start out by saying that I don’t want this to be awkward, but it’s probably going to be. Just… hear me out, okay?”

Jack squares his shoulders. “Okay.”

“I don’t like being yelled at,” Eric says in a rush. “I get that people have tempers and I get that people can lose them. Half the reason you got me so upset was because it took me completely by surprise. But if the usual go-to is yelling over being able to take a deep breath and go cool off then… I can’t. I can’t. I’ve had too many people yell at me. I don’t need to deal with that from someone I’m dating.” Jack wonders what that means, if Eric used to date someone who _did_ yell at him, or--he remembers the way Eric had hunched over underneath Tater’s arm back after the competition and feels the anger rising up again, fighting to squash it down.

Jack swallows and raises his hand. “Can I say something?”

Eric nods. “Go on.”

“I’m sorry,” he says first, because it needs to be said again. “And I know that doesn’t make it… better. But I am. I’m not as bad as I was, with getting angry, but it happens sometimes.”

“You’re allowed to feel angry, Jack,” Eric says. “But you can’t take it out on me.”

“I know. I wasn’t--trying to. All I can say is that I’ll work to be better. Especially since I know it bothers you so much.”

And Eric _smiles_. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Jack asks, in disbelief. “That’s it?”

“That’s all I wanted, Jack,” Eric says softly. “If you’re willing to listen to me, and try, that’s all I can ask for. We’re new. I don’t need you moving mountains for me just yet.”

...Jack would probably try to move mountains, if Eric wanted him to. Which is a dangerous thing to be thinking after less than a month, but--

Jack takes a breath. “Did you still want to know what that text was about? Why I was upset?” He can offer that, at least.

“Oh, honey, you don’t have to tell me. You’re right that it’s not my business.”

Jack scrubs a hand over his face. “No it--it kind of is? And I want to. Maybe telling someone would help.” Because he’s _still_ a little mad, damn it.

“It’s up to you.”

God, he’s perfect. “I--I have a… he used to be a friend. Now he’s more an antagonist than anything. We antagonise each other. We’ve been getting better at talking since I um, since I got back into playing, but he still knows how to push my buttons, and sometimes he just goes for it.”

“Okay.”

Jack wonders what Eric is reading in his face. “Anyway he--he started um. He started teasing me about you.”

Eric’s eyes widen. “About me?”

Jack lets out a breath and nods. “Since we were on that show together and then with my tweet and the news there’s um, there’s been a lot of speculation?”

Eric nods, and right, he knows, they’ve talked about it a little. That Eric’s been getting comments on his vlog and to his twitter, regarding his relationship with Jack. They haven’t done anything about it because… well. They haven’t even had dinner yet. Jack curses himself again for making that tweet (Eric had set him right about what they were called) public. He’s a private person. He would have liked some time to have this _be_ private.

“I think--I think several years ago it might’ve been funny,” he continues. “But it just… rubbed me the wrong way. And then he said he was going to visit you and your bakery and, um, that’s when I hung up. And sent the text.”

“Oh. Oh dear.”

“Yeah.” Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. “I guess the reason I was so upset about you asking was because I was worried that it would come up. And that he’d go there and talk to you and…” he trails off feeling stupid, anger dissipating.

“Jack?” Eric smiles at him. “Were you worried he’d pour poison in my ears?”

“...a little.” It’s a dumb admission. He _feels_ dumb, saying it.

“Jack, even if he did come in and talk to me, it wouldn’t matter much to me. I like to make my own judgements about people.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And you’re measuring up pretty well, so far. I’m still looking forward to dinner tomorrow night.”

Jack lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “I’m glad.” Glad he didn’t ruin it. “Me too.”

Eric smiles again and leans back a little, and Jack can now make out the Falconers name and logo on the sweatshirt. He inhales sharply, and Eric’s smile widens.

“Told you I’ve been using your present,” he says. “It’s a good size, for me. I get cold easily, so it’s nice to have around.”

“Glad it fits,” Jack says.

“Well, you’ve seen me. We do just about wear the same size.”

Jack huffs a laugh. “Sure, we could practically share clothes.” He promptly gets stuck on that thought, of Eric _in_ his clothes. He likes the idea. So he tells Eric as much.

He watches Eric swallow. “I like that idea too,” Eric says, eyes half-lidded. He stretches, arms reaching up over his head, and the sleeves do cover his hands--Eric has to push them back a little when he settles again. “Now then, you wanna tell me about your day?”

“I spent most of it worrying,” Jack says honestly, before mentally kicking himself for killing the mood.

Eric’s eyes just soften, “Oh no, I’m sorry. That’s my fault, isn’t it?” Jack opens his mouth to disagree, but Eric shakes his head. “Don’t you try to deny it. I know um, I know that you’re prone to worrying. I should have thought about how having to wait to talk to me would’ve made you feel.”

“It’s fine. We both were busy. It’s not your fault that we couldn’t talk right away.”

“Could I have said something different, to have made the day easier?”

Jack thinks about it. “Maybe… if you had said that you weren’t mad at me. I absolutely understand needing to talk, but I usually assume the worst, if that’s not explicitly stated.”

“Okay. I’ll remember that.”

There is a moment of silence, neither quite sure what to say.

“What a way to spend a Sunday night, huh?” Jack says, expression wry.

“Excuse you, I _worked_ today. I’m allowed some rest and relaxation, and this counts, for me. Not all of us can be out at all hours partying it up.”

“I still can’t believe Tater called you,” Jack mutters.

Eric laughs. “He’s taken it on himself to be your wingman. At least his heart’s in the right place.”

“Maybe I should return the favor,” Jack says thoughtfully. “I’m pretty sure he’s got a crush on Crystal.”

“Your nutritionist?” Eric laughs again, and that is _so_ much nicer to hear over the awful tremble that was in his voice this morning. “For real? I thought he was just like that with everyone.”

“He is,” Jack admits. “But they’re both single, and I’m pretty sure that even if Crystal wasn’t interested, she’d find the whole thing hilarious. Tater does drive her kind of crazy.”

“You’re not getting on her bad side too, are you? I mean. I have sort of given you five pies in two weeks.”

“Nah, I’m pretty good at sticking to her meal plans. I just saved the pie for a cheat meal. And it’s not like I ate them all myself.” He grins. “You told me not to, remember?”

Eric taps his lips. Jack wants to kiss them. “Why I believe I did, Mr. Zimmermann. Good to know you can follow directions. But that leads me to another, more _pressing_ question.”

“...Yeah?”

“What did the rest of the boys think of my pie? It completely slipped my mind to ask.”

Jack throws his head back and laughs.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE DINNER

Bitty powers through Monday by sheer strength of will. He cleans his apartment some (and gets distracted and goes downstairs to try a new cookie recipe), goes grocery shopping (picking up almond flour because he’s been thinking about branching into macarons and needs to experiment), spends two hours trying to decide what to wear to that evening, bakes, calls Lardo to ask for her help in what to wear (blue jacket with his red bowtie, which is his go-to anyway Lardo you _didn’t help_ ), bakes, and bakes more.

He makes a batch of cookies, three types of macarons (chocolate, strawberry, and pistachio), and ends up having to take a second shower because he accidentally knocked the almond flour off the counter and then tried to catch it.

By the time six o’clock rolls around, Bitty is showered, hair styled, teeth-brushed, dressed to the nines, and sitting on his couch listening to his pregame playlist (useful for many things) in an effort to keep himself from starting the drive out to the restaurant thirty minutes before he needs to.

He ends up going through his phone and rereading all the conversations he’s had with Jack for the last couple weeks.

He’s grinning down at the exchange they had last week, wherein Jack had gotten Snowy started on talking about Cupcake Wars and then had texted the entire thing to Eric, interspersed with his own comments (Jack Z: Apparently there’s a French guy who really hates red velvet cake, Snowy, “because it’s just fucking fake chocolate cake dyed fucking red” do you have opinions on this cake) when his alarm goes off, letting him know it’s six-thirty, and thus time to get into his car and start the drive down.

\---

Jack is nervous. But he’s also excited, and he’s been looking forward to this dinner since pretty much the moment he asked Eric out. They’ve been talking an awful lot, through text and phone calls and skype, but he’s only met Eric in person twice since the Food Network thing. And while Jack’s really enjoyed the two times he visited Eric at his bakery (even with what happened on the second visit), he likes that they’re going to meet on a more even ground, tonight. Eric won’t be working, so Jack won’t be worried about bothering him, or being an imposition, or being a customer. Instead they’ll just be two people on a date.

He’s really hoping Eric likes the restaurant. Eric seems to know his way around food, so Jack was pretty picky with how he found this place. They had great reviews, and while Jack has no idea whether or not Eric is the type of baker to have trouble eating desserts he didn’t make himself, the desserts here _are_ supposed to be superb.

Jack might be early, waiting at a secluded table in the back, but it isn’t yet seven when Eric is led to his table by the Maitre D’. Jack has to swallow, looking at him. The texting has been great, and the phone conversations surprisingly wonderful, and even with how the skype call had started, that had been nice too, being able to see Eric’s face while they talked. But now…

Now Eric is wearing a sharp blue blazer and a red bowtie. His hair is styled down. He’s dressed up, dressed to look nice, for _Jack_ , and his smile looks nervous but happy, and that expression is for Jack too.

It makes Jack feel warm all over.

“Hey,” Jack says, when Eric sits down. “You made it.”

“Ten minutes early, yes, and you still beat me,” Eric says, grinning at him.

Jack shrugs. “It’s a good thing that I showed up when I did, then. I couldn’t keep you waiting.”

They stare goofily at each other for a minute before their waitress clears her throat and offers them menus, asks if there’s anything they’d like to drink. Jack orders water, but Eric elects for sprite too. She leaves to get their drinks and then they’re alone, in-person face-to-face for the first time in over a week.

“So,” Eric says, shyly, after a few seconds. “Hi. You look nice.”

Jack chuckles. “First-date talk? Really?”

Eric leans forward in his seat. “Excuse me,” he says, all feigned indignation, “You’re making fun? It _is_ our first date. And I was complimenting you, you big lug! Ain’t you gonna say something nice back?”

Jack snorts, and he hadn’t planned on doing that. Eric sort of brings this out in him. “Of course you look good.”

“That’s better,” Eric says, preening a little. “I mean goodness, Jack, it’s our _first_ date, you’ve actually gotta be nice to me.”

“So I don’t have to be nice on the second date?”

Eric bites his lip. “Well. It depends on how things go.” And Jack doesn’t have a response to _that_ , besides swallowing hard. Eric doesn’t seem to notice and flaps his hand. “Now hush so I can read this menu from top to bottom and order something from it, so we get interrupted as little as possible tonight.”

It’s a good idea; Jack does the same and scans the menu for something diet-approved. He ends up going with a salmon dish that looks good. Eric is torn between the shepard’s pie and some sort of pasta dish and dithers for several minutes before he decides on the pie. It’s not actually all that funny, but Jack can’t help commenting anyway.

“I guess even when you’re not at work, you can’t get away from pie, eh?”

“Chirp me all you want, Mr. Zimmerman. But don’t you think that you get to steal bites off my plate.”

“That’s okay,” Jack says, grinning, “I’d rather eat your pie anyway.”

Eric colors abruptly, and Jack sort of wants to know _why_ , but it’s then that their waitress comes back with their drinks, and by the time they’ve given her their orders, it’s past the moment to ask.

“So,” Eric says, once she’s left again, “How did you spend your day?”

“You mean aside from being chirped mercilessly by the guys?”

“Whatever for?”

“What do you _think_ ,” Jack says, rolling his eyes. “They’ve got a betting pool on how this goes.” And as soon as it’s out of his mouth, he realizes his mistake.

“Oh?” Eric _smiles_ , honey-slow. Jack feels like he might be in trouble. “What’s the bet?”

“Well, it’s all _positive_ ,” Jack says, coloring. “I think Tater actually tried to fight Third over the idea that this wouldn’t go well? I’m not allowed to know the actual details of the pool, but I’m pretty sure it’s about whether or I um,” okay, maybe he shouldn’t have brought this up, “Whether or not I show up to skate tomorrow morning.” he says all in a rush.

“Any details?” Eric looks _too_ interested.

“I… they shut up once they found out I was listening but uh, Tater and Snowy were arguing with Poots that I’d probably make skate but that, um-”

“Um?”

“Tater and I go running together most mornings. I’m almost positive his bet is that I’d manage to make skate, but that I’d skip our morning run.”

“I _see_.” Eric sits back in his seat. “Well. How about that.”

“Obviously that uh, that doesn’t--”

“Jack.”

“Um. Yes?”

“ _Obviously_ we shouldn’t really be talking about that until at _least_ we get our food,” Eric says, “But--” his eyes track up and down Jack’s frame, and then he finishes, “I like Tater, and would absolutely _not_ mind him winning that bet.”

Jack is hit by such a wave of arousal that he has to clench his hand hard on his thigh to make his voice come out as anything resembling normal. “Just because you like Tater?”

“Well,” Eric sets his elbows on the table and crosses his hands, resting his chin on them. Jack really, really wants to kiss him. “I suppose you might have something to do with it. Now then, you wanna hear about my day?”

Jack’s throat is very dry. He takes a sip of water. “Yes. Yeah, what’d you do?”

Eric launches into a tale of extreme nervousness only to be tempered by baking, which makes Jack feel better about his own anxiety over meeting Eric for dinner, that it felt just as important to Eric as it did to Jack. By the time their food comes, Jack is laughing over Eric’s very descriptive picture of him sitting on the floor of the bakery’s kitchen, clutching a bag of almond flour while completely covered head-to-toe with its contents.

It’s funny, but aside from the initial awkwardness of seeing each other in a date setting, everything has been _good_. They’ve already spent so much time texting and talking back and forth that they know plenty of stuff about each other. Jack doesn’t have to tiptoe around his work, and Eric doesn’t have to explain his business. That's already been covered, along with the starts and stops and in-betweens. Jack can go right into telling stories about the guys, since Eric’s already met them, and Eric can do the same with Lardo and Shitty. They already both know each other’s hobbies and favorites, exchanged during skype calls and texts at sunrise. Now it’s just… delving. Getting even closer.

Jack isn’t surprised to find that he’s having a really good time. He’s feeling light, and easy, and turned on, and while the food is good, the company is much, much better. He’s already making plans on how to ask Eric if they can do this again, if they can maybe try to compare schedules, especially while it’s off season.

He already knows that, if Eric doesn’t mind, Jack’s going to be keeping his Mondays as clear as he can.

\---

Bitty eyes his strawberry-vanilla mousse. He very rarely orders desserts out anymore unless they come highly recommended, because, well, he’s got a pretty discerning palate, but mousse is a good failsafe, since it is not really a baked good.

“Does it look like it’ll be up to your standards?” Jack asks, and he’s grinning, so Bitty just sniffs at him.

“We’ll see.”

He takes a small bite. And it is very, very good. He closes his eyes to savor the taste and to try to pick apart the ingredients. They used fresh strawberries, and he’s pretty sure vanilla sugar, not just vanilla extract, but there’s something else in there also… He takes another bite, licking it off his spoon and wonders if they boiled a vanilla bean in the cream too. He might have to play with the idea at home, see if he can’t recreate it. Just for fun of course.

When Bitty opens his eyes again, it’s to Jack staring at him. It’s... very intense, being on the receiving end of that look. But in a good way.

“See something you like?”

Jack blinks hard, then smiles at him. “Several things. The mousse looks good, for instance.”

Bitty huffs a laugh. “And you, being silly, didn’t even order any dessert.”

Jack shrugs. “It’s not in my diet plan. Besides, I have to save all my cheat meals for your stuff.”

“Flatterer.”

Jack grins, all even white teeth. “Is it working?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking,” Bitty says after he’s taken a moment to really go over his words in his head. He takes another spoonful, licking it off slowly and watches Jack watch him.

“Yeah? What?”

“I’m thinking that I’ve been having an absolutely wonderful time tonight.”

Jack smiles at him, eyes soft. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hm. And I’ve been thinking that I like you a whole lot, and that I think the feeling’s mutual.”

“Not bad thoughts.”

“And I’m thinking we’re twenty minutes from my place,” Bitty says, and he thrills at Jack’s expression. “While I’d _understand_ if you’d rather go home after dinner because you have an early morning, since I don’t want you to miss practice if you don’t want to, I _also_ would like to point out that it’s not like you’d be bothering me leaving early _tomorrow_ , since I have to get up early too. I could even see you off. Make you breakfast. I make some mean pancakes.”

“Is that a fact,” Jack says slowly.

“Best in the state,” Bitty says, eating more mousse.

“Well,” Jack says, “I guess that would depend.”

“Oh? On what?”

“How badly you care who wins that betting pool.”

Bitty taps his spoon against his lips, absently noticing how Jack’s gaze zeros in. “Why Mr. Zimmermann, if you recall, I do believe I already threw my hat in the ring for Tater at the beginning of this meal.”

He grins as Jack signals for the check.


	9. Chapter 9

Jack walks Bitty to his car when they leave the restaurant, and in the quiet night before Bitty gets in, he takes Jack’s hand and smiles up at him, intent clear. The kiss is soft, sweet, and Bitty pulls away first because if he doesn’t he’s not gonna wanna stop anytime soon and--

Well. They’ve got plans.

“I’ll see you in a few,” Bitty says, before he steps back. Jack reaches forward and rests a gentle hand on Bitty’s neck before he leans down for another kiss.

“See you,” he says, smiling at him before he turns and walks to his own car. Bitty unabashedly watches him go.

When he does get into the car, puts the key in the ignition and drives out of the restaurant’s parking lot, he blasts his music loud, singing with it the whole drive. He’s a different kind of nervous now, the kind that comes with something so good happening you can’t quite believe it, the kind that makes excitement tingle through you.

He speeds a little, takes the shortcuts he knows, because he’s determined to beat Jack back. When he does pull into his parking space and turns off his car, he takes a moment to try to center himself. This is really happening. Jack Zimmermann is a sweet, slightly awkward, but incredibly  _ good _ man who is interested in  _ Bitty _ , and they are really doing this.

Wow.

Bitty waits outside, and Jack pulls up a few minutes later. Bitty walks over to meet him and Jack pulls him into a kiss the moment he’s exited his vehicle, like he had been waiting the entire drive to do just that. Bitty’s hands end up fisted in Jack’s shirt, Jack’s hand at the small of his back and the back of his neck again, both of them pulling each other closer.

This time it’s Jack who pulls away to grin down at Bitty. “Not going to invite me in?”

Bitty snorts and pushes up on his toes to lean in and nip at Jack’s bottom lip before stepping back, taking Jack’s hand. “Alright, come on then.” Jack chuckles and follows Bitty towards the second door in the back, waiting patiently as Bitty unlocks it.

Not  _ that _ patiently actually, since he spends the time running his free hand up and down Bitty’s back.

“Stop that!” Bitty says laughing, swatting at him as he gets the door open. “You can wait the minute it’ll take us to get inside and upstairs.” 

“An exercise in patience, eh?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

There is more kissing on the landing, once Bitty has the door closed again, Jack crowding him back against it, and it is so, so good. Bitty gasps as Jack mouths at his neck and then he really does have to stop Jack, because the night might be young, but Bitty also wants to be in a bed for the way this is going. The way he wants it to go.

Jack lets out a shaky breath, but he does step back and lets Bitty lead him up the stairs and into Bitty’s apartment. 

“Bedroom’s this way,” Bitty says, when Jack stops to look at the living room.

Jack smiles at him, presses a kiss into Bitty’s hair, before murmuring, “You’ll have to give me a tour later. I’d like to see your space.” This  _ man _ .

“Tour can definitely be arranged. Though we might have to schedule a repeat visit.”

“I’d like that a lot,” Jack says, blue eyes laser-focused. “And now, you said something about a bedroom?”

“Mm, did I?”

Jack chuckles, and Bitty leads him down the hall.

 

\---

 

Jack is a little bit in awe that he gets this, gets to be in Eric’s bedroom with him. He’s not vastly experienced; he’s been in relationships with exactly one man and one woman, and aside from that he hasn’t really cared enough to try to pursue anything else. He’d mentioned it to Shitty once, when he was being interrogated over his intentions towards Eric (they’d exchanged numbers, Jack can’t bring himself to regret it), and Shitty had launched into a nearly-hour long explanation of various demi- and gray-scale sexualities. It’d been interesting, and a lot of it had resonated, especially Jack not knowing someone well enough to want to do anything with them.

With Eric, he wants to do a whole lot. 

Eric, who is sitting down on his bed and undoing his bow tie, pulling off his suit jacket, hands then going for the buttons of his shirt when Jack stops him.

“Let me?”

Eric blinks up at him, a long sweep of lashes, and smiles. “Well,” he says, “if you insist.”

Jack doesn’t rush the buttons, instead enjoying that he’s able to take his time in baring Eric’s skin. When Eric is shirtless on the bed, Jack can’t help but duck in to trace his collarbone with tongue and teeth, thrilling as Eric gasps underneath him.

“Not fair!” Eric says, voice breathy. “You’re still wearing your  _ tie _ .”

Jack chuckles but moves back a little, enough to loosen his tie and shrug out of his jacket, start undoing his own buttons. Eric sits back to watch him, eyes wide and dark. It’s clear he’s enjoying what he’s seeing; the thought makes Jack proud, proud of how he’s worked his body so that Eric can enjoy it.

“Like what you see?” he murmurs, as he lets his shirt drop to the floor.

“Lord in heaven how are you  _ real _ ,” Eric blurts out, already reaching forward to run his hands over Jack’s chest, his abs. Jack laughs, catching one of Eric’s hands and kissing his fingertips. Eric’s breath stutters and he presses, just a little, and Jack immediately opens his mouth to suck those fingers in. Eric’s eyes somehow get even wider, his free hand dropping down to stroke over and over Jack’s thigh.

Jack lets his teeth graze Eric’s index finger as he pulls them out of his mouth, watching as Eric shudders. Interesting. He tucks that observation away and grins. “I’d really like to blow you.”

Eric  _ whimpers _ . “I do not know what I did in a past life, but good for me,” he says, before he starts to shuck his pants. Jack lets him get down to his underwear before he puts one hand on either side of Eric’s hips and pins him down, pressing a kiss just above band of Eric’s briefs.

“Jack!” It’s high and breathy, and Jack loves it. He kisses Eric again, a little lower down, feeling Eric twitch. “ _ Jack _ , Jack--stop--”

Jack freezes and pulls back, heart in his throat. “What? What’s wrong? Did I--” 

Eric stops him with a hand to his chest. “Honey, you did  _ nothing _ wrong. But you need to leave me thinking straight enough to get a condom on.”

“For a blowjob?”

Eric blinks up at him. “Well, yes. Safety is sexy? And I’d really like to be able to kiss you after without you having to leave me by my lonesome so you can brush your teeth.”

Jack doesn’t know what face he’s making, but he must look disappointed because Eric laughs. “It is flattering that you look so distraught over wanting to give me a blowjob,” he says, shuffling forward to kiss Jack again. They get distracted by that for several long moments before Eric manages to get out, “How about--how about we maybe save that for later, and try something else?”

“Okay,” Jack says, from where he’s nipping at Eric’s chin. He’s pretty much down for anything, as long as Eric is happy and comfortable. “What do you have in mind?”

Eric swallows, looking flushed and beautiful, and Jack sits up to pay  _ attention _ . “Well I’ve maybe been thinking about this all day, but I’d  _ really _ like to ride you.”

“Yeah,” Jack manages, through the new wave of blinding arousal. “Let’s do that.”

“And--” Eric adds, before he seems to lose his train of thought. It might have something to do with Jack biting at his collarbone again.

“And?” Jack prompts, feeling pleased with himself.

“And-- _ Jack _ \--” for the hand running up and down the inside of his thigh, “--and I’d--Jack, let me  _ speak _ \--” Jack chuckles but does stop long enough for Eric to say, “I’d love it if you prepped me.”

Jack can’t help the unbidden image of Eric spread out for him, making noises as Jack works him open. He also can’t help pushing Eric down to kiss the life out of him, as Eric giggles breathlessly.

“See, I have good ideas if you let me  _ say  _ them and  _ how _ do you still have your pants on, I call foul!”

Jack doesn’t remember laughter ever being so much a part of sex before.

 

\---

 

Later, while Bitty moans and clenches around Jack’s fingers--

Later, when Eric sinks down slowly, thighs trembling a little with the effort as Jack fights to keep still--

Later, when they are moving together, clutching at each other, kissing desperately, lost in each other’s bodies--

Later, when they’re curled around each other under the covers, Jack idly tracing patterns on Eric’s skin--

Later, when Jack falls asleep first, and Bitty is up for a few more minutes, smiling softly at the whole day--

Later and during, and for all the moments in between, they’re both thinking, “I got so, so lucky.”


	10. Chapter 10

Jack’s alarm goes off at five in the morning like it always does, but when he wakes up to turn it off, his phone is not on his side table like it normally is. Also it’s not even his side table, and there’s a warm lump by his side that is Eric curled up against him. Said lump pushes his face into Jack’s chest.

“Oh my god, turn it off.”

Jack finds his phone underneath the pillow, remembering that he tucked it there last night when he’d gotten up to go to the bathroom. “Sorry,” he murmurs, shutting it off.

Eric groans but rolls over. “It’s okay. I said I’d be up, and now I am up.” he squints at his window. “What time is it?”

“Five,” Jack says apologetically. “It’s when I’m usually up to get ready for my run.”

“Well unless you brought track pants _with_ you, you might have to skip it,” Eric says, before pecking Jack on the cheek. “I don’t think I own any clothing that would fit you.” He pauses. “Though I do own a Falconers sweatshirt…”

Jack snorts and does not mention that he always keeps an extra set of training clothes in his car, just in case. He can stand to skip one morning run. It’s a special occasion. “It’s fine. I’m skipping the run today. But it’s good I’m up now anyway, for the drive back.”

“Mm. What time is your skating practice?”

“Practice starts at ten, but I need to be there for trainer treatment at nine.”

It’s Eric’s turn to snort. “Lord, that’s plenty of time even with morning traffic.” He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself, then sits up quickly shoving the covers down. “Okay! Okay, I am up.” He yawns and stretches, Jack watching appreciatively. When Eric notices the stare, he smiles and flicks Jack on the nose.

“Lemme rustle you up a toothbrush,” he says, standing up. “Then you can have the shower first.”

It’s a bit of an upset to Jack’s routine, taking a shower now, without even going on a run first, but he find he doesn’t mind. Maybe--maybe next time he can bring a bag, get up quietly without waking Eric, and come back to him still sleeping, or to him just getting out of bed to get ready for his own day.

It’s a nice thought.

Eric comes back, covering a yawn, and hands Jack a toothbrush, still in it’s plastic packaging. “Go ahead,” he says. “Bathroom’s yours.”

When Jack comes out of the bathroom ten minutes later, a cloud of steam following him, Eric isn’t in the bedroom. But he can hear him singing something, and, after pulling on his pants and picking up his jacket and tie, follows that, ending up in the apartment’s kitchen.

It’s not as big as Jack was picturing, but it is cozy and neat, with light streaming in through the windows. Eric is at a counter wearing an apron and nothing else, cracking eggs into a bowl.

Jack pads forward and presses a kiss to Eric’s shoulder. “Morning.”

Eric jumps a little, but laughs. “How are you so large and so quiet at the same time?”

“Just lucky I guess,” Jack replies. He _likes_ this image of Eric, laughing and happy in his kitchen. “Shower’s free.”

“Perfect timing,” Eric says. “This needs to stand a few minutes to thicken up. Coffee’s brewing,” he points to the pot on the counter. “I’ll be just a tick in the shower. Make yourself at home.” Then he unties the apron and hangs it up, before striding out of the kitchen. Jack is very appreciative.

Jack forgoes taking a seat at the table in favor of leaning back against the counter and looking around the kitchen. It is a little small, but the space seems to suit Eric. There’s an open shelf filled with cookbooks, what looks like a good half dozen kitchen timers, and there are pots and pans and bowls on top of every cabinet along with, Jack can see, a step stool. It looks lived in, in a way that Jack’s own space isn’t, not really.

When the coffee pot beeps, Jack opens and closes cabinets until he finds the mugs, stacked haphazardly on top of each other, and pulls out two. One is covered with pictures of teacups and cakes, and the other has a picture of a coffee cup and the phrase, “I love you a latte”  
written on it in cursive. He takes that one for himself.

 

\---

 

Bitty sees Jack off with a kiss, a little bag filled with a muffin and two breakfast cookies, and another kiss. He watches as Jack gets into his car and throws one last look Bitty’s way, then drives off.

It’s just after seven in the morning. Jack should have plenty of time to get home and get ready for his morning skate. They have plans to skype that night, and another date set up for next Sunday, to make dinner together. Since Bitty doesn’t have to work the day after, he’s going to make the drive down and spend the night. He’s already looking forward to it.

Meanwhile, Bitty has plenty of work to do, especially since it’s delivery day. They’d spent the last hour down in the kitchen so Bitty could get started on the day’s goods, Jack a warm if slightly distracting presence there with him, but he has a schedule to keep to Jack or no Jack, and he can’t spend the rest of morning day-dreaming outside.

He goes back into the kitchen and puts on his music and manages to get lost for a little while in batters and doughs. If he stops every so often to stare into space, or press his lips together remembering, or let his fingers brush over the hickey below the hollow of his throat, well. It’s not as though anyone else can see.

He manages to keep to his schedule and make good progress on getting the morning stock all baked and loaded when he decides to send Jack a message to get after he’s done with his practice.

Pulling out his phone, Bitty realizes that _he_ has messages waiting for him, that he must have missed while bopping along to his music.

9:15AM Jack Z: Tater won the pool.

9:15AM Jack Z: Apparently part of the bet was that the team buys him anything of yours that he wants.

9:16AM Jack Z: He insists that we drive down today after we’re done. I hope you aren’t too sick of me yet.

9:16AM Jack Z: I’ll talk to you more after practice.

9:32AM Eric Bittle: Of course you’re welcome! Tater too. But you especially. I’m glad I get to see you again so soon (▰˘◡˘▰)

He sends it off and then takes the last tray of lemon bars out front, just in time to see Lardo unlocking the front door and letting herself inside.

“Morning,” she says, closing the door behind her and then starting to take down the chairs.

“Uh, good morning? What are you--I thought Whiskey was supposed to be working this shift.”

“He was,” Lardo said, not looking up from the chairs. “I asked if I could take it instead.”

“...why?”

Lardo sets the chair on the floor and straightens up, turning to pin Bitty with a look. “Bits, if you don’t think that I’m not getting _every single_ detail out of you, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Wait a--”

“Also, Shitty’s coming by as soon as he’s finished at work today. Probs less for baked goods and more to grill you.”

Bitty sputters a little. Lardo goes back to the chairs. “Don’t you have things to get into the oven?” she calls over her shoulder.

This is true. Bitty has his baking schedule down to an exact science now, so that he can get his morning goods started and continue to bake throughout the day, as demand calls for it. He’s got filling on the stove and mini-pies to finish.

“I can’t believe you decided to take a shift just to interrogate me,” he says, before he heads back into the kitchen. Which is a lie. Actually, he can.

“Like you’re not _dying_ to give me deets,” Lardo calls, loud enough for Bitty to hear as he leaves. Bitty retreats to his kitchen.

Mostly because he’s embarrassed over how freaking _right_ she is. He can _not_ wait to share his night, and he probably would have called her on his first break had she not decided to come in.

 

\---

 

Jack figures that it would just be him and Tater again, when they drove down to visit Eric.

He had not planned on Snowy going, “Wait, no, we should fucking see this guy again. Now that we know there’s a human being who can make you change you up your nutso routine. Let’s go and patronize his business. Besides, his stuff is fucking aces.”

And then Guy had nodded, and before Jack knew it, he was taking one car with Tater, Snowy and Matt (Snowy had basically dragged him along), while Guy drove his own car filled with Marty, Third, and Poots.

Jack texts Eric to warn him that approximately half the Falconers hockey team was coming to his bakery but he doesn’t get a response before he starts the drive.

Forty minutes later the two cars are pulling into parking spaces and Jack’s phone _still_ has no replies from Eric, and by then it is too late anyway, because Tater shouts, “Race you!” followed by four grown men barreling towards the front door (Guy, Third, and Matt seem fine with walking). Jack can only watch as they descend.

Predictably, Tater wins, but he stops at the door and graciously lets Jack go in first. When he does he has to stop and just--look. Eric is behind the counter again, and he’s laughing at something someone had said--maybe Lardo, because she’s there too, and he just--he looks so happy, and Jack is fully struck by how much he _likes_ him.

“Hey move it, man,” Snowy says, from behind his shoulder “You’re blocking the entrance.”

They all pour in, which is, of course, about the time that Eric looks up. Jack watches his eyes widen comically, before he glances at Lardo, who is watching them all with a wary expression.

Jack clears his throat and goes up to the counter. “Hi.”

“Jack!” Eric hisses, “I thought you said you and Tater!”

“Not happy to see me?”

“Very happy! But--But--” Eric waves feebly at the players who are crowding around his display case, making back-and-forth comments on what they’re going to get. A few people are looking at them with interest, but Jack is pretty sure that it’s mostly because they’re simply a large group of large men, not because they’re being recognized. “Crystal’s gonna drive down here and murder me herself,” he ends up saying, before he stops looking so stunned. “But! Far be it from me to keep you guys from baked goods.” He squares his shoulders and smiles at them. “Any idea what ya’ll wanna have?”

“Some of that pecan pie would be great, it was the shit when Jack brought it in--”

“You have lemon bars! I will be having those, I think--”

“Aw man, oatmeal raisin cookies are my favorite, could I have one of those?”

“Poots, you are one weird-ass kid if those are your favorite cookie, hit me up with a raspberry chocolate chip, please.”

“Could I have a slice of the lemon meringue pie?”

“That custard tart thing looks awesome, that’ll be mine.”

“Blueberry muffin, please.”

Eric nods and smiles and pulls things out of cases and onto plates and _keeps up_ , no problem, not that Jack ever doubted. When everyone is served and settled, he turns to Jack. “And for you, Mr. Zimmerman?”

“Surprise me,” Jack says.

Eric laughs and gets out another plate, pulling a cookie out of the display case before sliding it towards Jack. “There,” he says. “One PB&J cookie. For all your protein needs.”

The guys laugh at that, all of them going over to push two tables together and sit. Only Jack and Third stay at the counter, the latter pulling out his wallet.

“Oh no,” Eric says, “it’s fine, really--”

“Nah man, you’ve gotta let me pay,” Third says. “Part of the pool. I was the furthest off. And then Poots covers the next thing Tater wants.”

“Well in that case,” Eric says, taking Third’s card and running it through the register. “Can’t get in the way of bets. Can I ask what your bet _was_?”

Third grins and shakes his head. “Nah, mostly I said it because it pissed Tater off. I didn’t actually think I’d come close to winning. It’s obvious Zimmermann’s gone on you.” He takes his card back, picks up his raspberry-chocolate cookie and heads over to the guys.

Jack is torn, because he wants to stay at the counter with Eric, but he also probably should be with his team and listen to what they’re talking about (and maybe encourage them to keep it down, they’re already getting looks from the other patrons) but then Eric nods at him and steps around the counter. He makes his way over to the loud table and smiles at them all, nice as you please.

“Scuze me fellas, and it’s _great_ that ya’ll are enjoying yourself, but I gotta remind you that this is a bakery not a bar, okay? Please keep it down?”

“We are sorry!” Tater says immediately. “We will be quiet. Shhh, guys, quiet.” There are other murmurs of assent, over which Tater adds, “And could I please be having a fruit tart?” He holds up his empty plate. Poots sighs but takes out his credit card and offers it up to Eric.

Eric takes the plate and the card. “Sure thing, be back in a sec.” He hip-checks Jack on the way back behind the counter. “Go sit with your boys,” he says. “I’ll still be here.”

Jack doesn’t go just yet, instead watching as Eric plates a tart and runs Poots’ card, before taking it to the table. Jack follows him over. Absently he notices the jingle of the front bell as the door opens.

“You beautiful mother-fucker!” Shitty yells, pounding Jack on the back. Jack startles. Distantly he hears Snowy say, “ _I like this guy.”_

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” Shitty continues, in Jack’s silence. “I was just gonna grill Bitty but hell, you can join the party!”

“Party?”

“Shitty!” Eric hisses. “ _Shitty?”_ Tater asks the group at large. “I can’t dish if he’s _here_.”

“Nah, nah,” Shitty says, clapping Jack on the shoulder again, “It’ll be cool. I’ll get his side, and then I’ll get your side. It’s allowed; I’m a neutral party. Apple-cinnamon muffin please.”

Eric rolls his eyes but goes back to the counter, presumably to get the muffin. Shitty grabs a chair and drags it over, then plops down into it.

“C’mon,” he says, hitting the table with his palm. “Sit down, Zimmermann. We’ve got a date to talk about.”

“Yeah,” Marty says, barely masking his laughter. “We _do_ have a date to talk about.”

Jack’s face is several shades of red. “Can we not.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Snowy says. “This is _gold_ .” Guy looks like he’s almost smiling. Matt _is_ smiling, but at least he’s hiding it behind his hand. Tater is doing no such thing and is grinning with abandon.

Jack is doomed.

 

\---

 

In the end, everyone gets a second baked good of some sort, and Guy buys the whole table coffee, Shitty included. Bitty has to go over two more times to ask them to quiet down, and Lardo does so once not-so-nicely while Bitty is talking to other customers. They leave something like an hour later in good humor with several promises to come back (and one special order from Snowy to get something shipped to his mom and younger sister because, “You were a fucking Food Network star they’ll lose their shit.”). Tater rushes forward to envelope Bitty in a hug, and Bitty barely even flinches.

He does pull Jack back into the kitchen to kiss him goodbye before he leaves.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this took me a little longer to get up. I'm currently looking for a new job and the stress is sort of eating away at me. Anyone want to hire me out as an editor?

Jack should have expected it, but he gets asked about it in PR a couple days later. Or rather, it comes up in PR. He’s not even the one asked. Apparently someone had snapped a picture of the whole lot of them at a table at Bitty’s and posted it to instagram, along with the picture of Tater hugging Eric, and they had gone viral.

“Alexei, this is at least your second time going to visit Bitty’s Bakery. You met the owner and baker, Eric Bittle, on your guest episode on Food Network challenge, correct?” 

Tater smiles, but he looks a little bewildered. “Yes. Eric is excellent baker! He make my nutritionist very mad.” There is laughter, and another microphone is shoved in Tater’s face.

“Your teammate, Jack, apparently visited Eric on his own, according to one of his tweets, and then brought you along. Is that when you started to get better acquainted with Eric?”

It starts to dawn on Jack what is being asked, and then it’s just a hilarious yet awful lump in his throat as he watches Tater’s brow furrow.

“Yes?” the confusion is evident now. “Eric was very kind. He make special for me a pastry from Russia that I miss very much.” Tater glances at Jack, but though  _ a _ question is clear in his eyes, Jack doesn’t know what it is he’s asking.

“What can you tell us about the hug?” 

“Is there an announcement you would like to make?”

“Are you going to continue to pursue Mr. Bittle?”

“Have you thought about how the distance might impact your relationship?”

“I--Wait, that is not--Jack--” Tater looks  _ mystified _ , and the questions just keep coming.

“That’ll be all the questions for today,” George says firmly, before steering them away. She keeps walking, so Jack and Tater follow her until they’re all in her office. Jack is grateful that they were at least doing the PR out of gear.

She motions for them to both sit, but then raises an eyebrow at Jack. “You didn’t have to come,” she says. “I just need to have a quick chat with Alexei.”

“Jack can stay,” Tater says quickly. Jack’s not sure what to make of his facial expression. “Please, let Jack stay.”

The eyebrow climbs higher. “Alright. If you don’t mind him here for this conversation.” Tater shakes his head. “...okay then. Alexei, are you dating Eric Bittle?”

“No!” And then he bursts out laughing. George doesn’t look amused. 

Jack raises his hand. “Um, I am?”

She looks between the two of them. “Oh? Oh!” And sits back in her chair. “Well. Then I guess I’ll have this conversation with you instead.”

“Okay.”

She sends Tater away after promising to give him details as they are ready to be released, and then laces her fingertips together, looking over at Jack.

“So,” she says. “First of all, congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

Second of all, you didn’t think to tell me that you were dating the man you met on the _nationally televised_ _show_?”

Jack shifts in his seat. “We haven’t been dating very long yet. I wanted to see where things would be going before I talked to you. It’s been… nice, keeping it a little more private.”

She gives him a look. “Jack, you just visited his bakery with a third of the team. If you wanted to keep things private, that was not the way to do it.”

“That just… happened. Snowy really wanted to pay a visit and the whole thing sort of snowballed?”

“Is  _ Snowy _ going to be getting questions about whether or not he’s dating Eric too?”

Jack tries to think back over what happened on Tuesday, whether or not any of the exchanges between Eric and Snowy could have looked incriminating. George goggles at him. “Jack, I was joking!”

“Oh. Well. No, then.”

George snorts. “Okay, seriously. What would you like to do? I was letting the fan speculation  _ be _ speculation, but if actual reporters are asking the wrong guy about who Eric Bittle is dating, it’s probably a good time to make a statement.”

Jack shifts again. “We’ve talked about it a little bit. Eric’s got an online presence. His bakery has a twitter and he runs a vlog about southern food. So he’s been getting some comments on there, since Tater and I visited a couple weeks ago.”

Abruptly George frowns. “Some comments? Jack, have you seen these yourself?” 

Jack shakes his head. “I’ve watched some of his videos, but I never bothered reading the comments on them. Why?”

“Can you give me the name of his accounts?”

He does, and George fiddles on her phone for a few moments. “He posted his most recent video a week and a half ago,” she says. “It looks like he posts about two videos a month. Jack? Brace yourself, okay. I need you to hear this.”

“Is something wrong?”

“These are the most recent comments on his video.” And then she starts to read. Every other comment seems to be a question about Eric and his ties to the Falconers, to Jack or Tater. Some are just curious, but others are biting; little more than expletives and accusations, about two-timing them, about not being good enough for them, about distracting Jack, about ‘turning’ Tater. There are a few nice comments about the actual contents of his video, the rest…

Jack’s hands are white-knuckled on his thigh. “He never said anything. He--he mentioned he’d been getting some comments, but he never told me  _ this _ . Or that there were so  _ many _ .”

George looks at him with sympathy. “A lot of these are probably born of speculation. Since nothing’s confirmed, and you haven’t made any statements, Eric’s been getting the brunt of fan gossip since he also maintains an online presence. Going public won’t make this go away,” Jack knows that; he still has some issues with being out as bi, people who can’t help but hate him, and that’s even  _ without _ having a girlfriend or boyfriend in the picture, “But it might lessen some of this.”

“I’ll talk to Eric,” Jack promises, standing up. “And I’ll get back to you on what we’d like to do.”

“Jack,” George stands too. “Do you think this is serious?”

He nods. “I’d like it to be.”

“And you’re happy? He makes you happy?”

He nods again. “Yeah. I’m… I’m in it for the long haul, I think. If he wants to be.”

George smiles at him. “Then we’ll make it work. It’ll be a little rough, since this is the first person you’ve dated since coming out, especially since he’s male; people have been  _ waiting _ for this, I think. But it won’t be a PR nightmare. He’s adorable, the media already loves him, and he’s a  _ baker _ for pity’s sake. We’ll clear up this thing with Tater, you’ll release a statement about how this is new and you’d appreciate people respecting your privacy and his business, and life will go on.”

 

\---

 

“You’re kidding,” Eric laughs over skype that night. “Me and Tater? Really? Over  _ you _ ?”

“I was right next to him too,” Jack says. “And no one asked me anything at all. They saw the picture of the hug and then it was ‘What are your intentions towards Eric Bittle, Alexei?’ and ‘How will your nutritionist feel about you dating a baker?’”

“Lord, how did that go?”

“Tater didn’t know what to do. That part was funny. George ended the questioning so she could do some of her own.”

“And?”

“And I told her about us, and she’s very happy, but she wants me to make a statement. Apparently the public’s been waiting.”

“Waiting for  _ what _ ?”

“Me to date someone,” Jack admits. “I came out almost five years ago, but I haven’t actually dated anyone since then. Some people don’t even believe I really like guys. There are debates, apparently.”

“Well that’s just silly,” Eric frowns. “Just because you aren’t kissing a boy right  _ now _ doesn’t mean you don’t  _ want _ to.”

“That’s very true,” Jack says. “For instance, I’m not currently kissing you. But I want to very much.”

“Sweetheart,” Eric smiles, “The feeling’s entirely mutual.”

“I’m really looking forward to Sunday,” Jack has to say, apropos of nothing.

But Eric only smiles wider. “Me too.”

“Oh, and you’ll have to tell me what you’d like to make, so I can buy all the ingredients.”

“Pick a favorite meal,” Eric says. “And then I’ll send you a list of what I need.”

“I’ll think about it,” Jack promises. “But um, speaking of food…”

“Yeah, hon?”

“George asked me for your vlog. I--I gave it to her.”

“Okay. I mean, I didn’t know she was interested in southern cooking, but far be it from me too say who can and can’t--”

“Eric. I. She read me some of the comments.”

“Oh.” Eric glances down. Jack can just see his fingers brushing over and over something floppy and brown. “I--I don’t get all too many of them, and they’re really not that bad--”

“Eric.”

Eric sighs. “I would have told you, but I didn’t want you to worry.”

“This is the sort of thing I’m supposed to worry about,” Jack says firmly. “Especially since it’s half my fault you’re getting comments like that. I--I’m not naive enough to think that releasing a statement and asking for privacy will make those people go away, but it might help a little. And in the meantime, you can tell me these things so you don’t have to deal with them alone. Okay?”

“Okay,” Eric murmurs. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Would you have?” Jack needs to know. That Eric wouldn’t have just let himself be hurt like this. Because he can see it  _ does _ hurt him, these people being nasty. “Eventually?”

“I… I don’t know. It’s just… it’s just anonymous people on the internet calling me names,” Eric says. “I’ve had worse, you know?”

Jack grows cold. “You have?”

Eric nods, oblivious. “Sure. I mean, you can ignore people when they’re just text on a screen. It’s a lot harder when they’re yelling in your face.”

“And people… do that to you?” it comes out harder than he meant it too, but he’s  _ angry _ .

Eric laughs, but it’s not the nice kind from before. This sounds brittle and full of old pain. “Oh well, not anymore they don’t. Or not often? It was worse when I was growing up. Um. My dad coached football, so there were, uh, there were a lot of football players in my life. We didn’t, shall we say, get along so well.”

Jack swallows. “Is that why you don’t like yelling?”

“One of the reasons.” Eric doesn’t elaborate. 

Jack doesn’t press. “Could you tell me next time? If something happens that--that makes you hurt. Because I’d want to be there. I’d want to be there for you.”

“Okay, Jack,” Eric says softly. “I will. I--thank you.”

“For what?”

“For wanting to be there for me.”

Jack swallows again, and the silence stretches, a long moment that neither wants to break. Eventually, Jack asks, “Did you have any ideas? Of what you want the statement to say?”

Eric’s eyes widen. “Goodness um… I don’t know.”

“Just anything you want me to tell people. Or don’t want me to tell people.”

“I--how detailed do you want?”

Jack shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Jack, you’re putting me on the spot here.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay! But ah, it’s not something I really thought about. What would you want to say?”

“Hi. I’m Jack Zimmermann, and I’m dating Eric Bittle. We met on an episode of Food Network Challenge, where I was a guest judge. We only recently started dating, and I’d like to please ask that both of our privacy be respected, especially considering that Eric runs his own business. Thank you.” He makes a face. “Something like that.”

Eric flaps a hand. “Jack, that was perfect. You don’t need any help from me.”

“You think it was okay?” It’s only all he’s been thinking about since talking to George, running the words over and over in his head. “It’s very… concise.”

“But that’s all you really need,” Eric says. “Short and to the point. It’s very you.”

“I’m not short.”

Eric huffs a laugh. “You’re a nut, is what you are.”

Jack smiles. “You’re the one stuck with me.”

“I dunno,” Eric says. “Apparently Tater might be a hot prospect--”

“I’ll be sure to let him know. I did say once that he’d ask to marry you for your baked goods.”

“Shame on him, only wanting me for my food.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course! Least with you I know you want me for my body.”

“Eric!”

“What?” Eric grins at him through the screen, innocent as you please. “I want you for yours too.”

Jack snorts. “I’m glad we can be honest with each other.”

“That’s how lasting relationships are built, handsome.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued comments and support. It means a lot, especially since I'm going through some stuff right now. My mom's in the hospital and I'm just. I'm worried about her. That on top of the looking-for-a-job thing, it's a lot. But! That's not what you're here for, you're here for fic. Here is the fic.

After some more talking, both with Bitty and with George, Jack decides to release a statement on Sunday afternoon, so that he can go from it right into spending time with Bitty. Jack doesn’t ask Bitty to be there with him, but Bitty offers it anyway.

The look of surprise he gets is, honestly, a little heart wrenching.

“You’d want to do that?” Jack asks, and even through the skype connection, his surprise is no less visceral.

“Honey, of course I do,” Bitty replies. He only just stops himself from reaching out and touching the screen. “Remember how you said you’d want to be there for me? It works both ways. I want to be there for you.”

“Okay,” Jack smiles. “I’d-I’d really like that. But won’t you be busy? I know Sunday is one of your busier days, since it’s the weekend.”

Bitty shakes his head. “I’ll wake up a little earlier and do more prep, and if things get sold out, things get sold out. I can afford to take one afternoon off. And this way I get to spend more time with you.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am. Just tell me what time and where to be. I’ll dress up all spiffy. You’ll have the most fashionable boyfriend ever.” He doesn’t stutter when he says the word, even though they haven’t like, talked about it officially.

Jack doesn’t even blink funny. “I thought I already did.”

Bitty laughs, because it’s his wind-down time and he’s currently wearing his Zimmermann jersey and a pair of red shorts. “Yes, but it doesn’t hurt to play that up for the cameras.”

“It won’t be too bad,” Jack says. “My statement is going to be less than five sentences. George suggests that we do take a couple questions, but that’s only if you want to. Because if we open up questions, there’s the possibility that they’ll ask you some.”

“I’m fine with it if you are. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um,” Jack starts, but Bitty holds up a hand.

“Nevermind. If they ask questions, they ask questions. We can always not take any that are nasty. I want to do this and be there with you, and afterwards we’ll go back to your place and hide from the press and make dinner and have a nice night in. Sound good?”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Good!” And that’s enough talk of that. They can deal with it more on Sunday. “Did you get my list of ingredients?”

“Yeah. I’m going to get everything tomorrow. And you’re sure I don’t need to buy any pans or anything?”

“Nope, what you have looks fine.” Bitty, not knowing what Jack owned, had insisted Jack send him pictures of all his kitchen goods. Jack could stand to own a few more pots and pans and spatulas, but Bitty would be able to make do for one dinner. For now. “Though I might make you expand your stock later on. Especially if I’m gonna do any baking in that kitchen of yours. And it’s a _nice_ kitchen, so it would be a crime not to, frankly.”

Jack leans back on his bed, so Bitty can see more of his frame. “Well it’s lucky that you’ll be coming over in a few days, then. I’ve _never_ baked in my kitchen. You can de-flour it.”

Bitty stares at him. Repeats that sentence over again in his head. Promptly cracks up. “Oh my goodness, that was _awful_.”

Jack looks too proud of himself. “But you’re laughing.”

“Because that was _so bad_ oh my god _Jack_.”

“You butter believe it.”

“Oh my god, _stop_ you’re terrible.”

Jack smiles and ducks his head. “That was the only two I could think of.”

“It’s a good thing,” Bitty says through giggles, “Otherwise I would have been forced to hang up on you. I don’t need more baking puns in your life.”

And then he sees Jack’s eyebrow furrow, watches as his expression clears and he opens his mouth. “...you don’t _knead_ more baking puns in your life?”

Bitty does, in fact, cut the connection.

He calls back about two seconds later.

 

\---

 

The press conference isn’t so bad. George only let in a select group of reporters and was very clear on there being limited time. It’s not right after a skate so he’s not too tired, and Eric is a warm, solid presence next to him.

“Thank you for coming. This is just to inform you all that I’m dating Eric Bittle. We met on an episode of Food Network Challenge, where I was a guest judge. We only recently started dating, and I’d like to please ask that our privacy be respected, especially considering that Eric runs his own business and does not have anything to do with the sport that I play.” Reporters are scribbling furiously, cameras flashing, mics at the ready. “We will now take three questions. Yes?” He points to someone randomly.

“Jack! This is the first man you’ve dated since coming out five years ago!”

“That wasn’t a question,” Jack says mildly, and he can see the other reporters _livid_ over the wasted statement, “But yes. I wasn’t interested in dating. Then I met Eric.”

“So the allegations that Mr. Bittle was dating Alexei Mashkov were false?”

Jack snorts. He can’t help it. Eric beats him to the answer, “It’s news to me,” he says, linking hands with Jack.

“Eric! How does it feel to be dating Jack Zimmermann?”

Eric raises an eyebrow, but then he’s smiling up at Jack. “He’s alright, I guess.”

“That was three questions,” George cuts in, as the reporters try to call out other ones. “Thank you for your time.”

The disappointment is palpable as Jack and Eric hustle out of the room.

“Well,” Eric says, once they’re free. “That wasn’t so bad.” He’s flushed, though from nervousness or excitement, Jack isn’t sure. Probably both. “A lot of build-up for nothing much. Food Network was _way_ more nerve-wracking.”

“I’m glad you didn’t mind it,” Jack says, squeezing his hand once. “Want to get out of here?”

Eric grins at him. “I sure do. We’ve got plans.”

 

@bittysbakery: It’s true ya’ll! But Jack only likes me for my pies. Speaking of, the pie of the week is peach! Available in slices, whole, or mini!

 

\---

 

Bitty had driven straight from the bakery over to the conference, and then he and Jack had to drive separately back to Jack’s place, so when they get inside it’s the first time they’ve been alone together and able to touch each other since the brief kiss last Tuesday.

Bitty doesn’t waste time, settling his hands on Jack’s shoulders and pushing up on his toes to kiss him, soft and slow. Jack groans into his mouth and then there’s a hand on the small of Bitty’s back, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. They stand there in the threshold for a long moment.

Bitty nips at Jack’s jaw once before stepping back. He’s a little breathless, but he’s not complaining. “Not gonna show me around? It _is_ a bit early to start dinner just yet.”

“Sure,” Jack says, taking Bitty’s hand and interlacing their fingers. “Let’s go to the living room first.”

“Okay,” Bitty says, as they start to walk. “Why that room first?”

“Because if I show you the kitchen, we won’t leave it.”

“Fair enough,” Bitty laughs.

They walk into the living room hand in hand, and when Jack leads them to the couch Bitty follows along easily, though he can’t help but throw Jack a chirp. “I thought you said you _didn’t_ just want me for my body,” as Jack sits down. Bitty grins at him and then goes to settle in his lap.

“There’s the pie too,” Jack replies, before pulling Bitty in and kissing the skin underneath his left ear. Bitty’s fingers tighten in Jack’s shirt as Jack sucks at that spot. How did Jack even _remember_ that that was one of Bitty’s erogenous zones.

Oh right, because Jack Zimmermann doesn’t do things by halves.

“ _Jack_ ,” Bitty has to moan when Jack sucks on an earlobe. “I am a gentleman and I was going to make you dinner _first_ \--”

“I don’t mind if you don’t.”

Bitty laughs breathlessly, before turning his head to catch Jack’s mouth with his own, sliding his arms around Jack’s neck and moving in closer. Jack’s hands come up, one to rest on the back of Bitty’s neck, the other worked underneath Bitty’s shirt to rest on the skin at the small of his back.

Jack’s phone starts to ring.

“Fuck, sorry,” he says as he fumbles to pull it out of his pocket. “I meant to turn it off but--” he freezes when he looks at whoever is calling.

“Jack?” Bitty asks carefully. “Are you okay?”

“I should take this,” Jack says, as the phone continues to ring. But he sounds so _defeated_.

Bitty cups Jack’s chin in his hands. “You can if you need to,” he says seriously. “But you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Jack stares at his phone. “I--maybe I’ll call him back.” But he doesn’t do anything, just holds it in his hand as it rings. Eventually it stops. A minute later it beeps, which Bitty assumes means that whoever called left a message.

“Do you, um, do you want to listen to that?” Bitty asks. Underneath him, it feels as though Jack has turned to stone.

“I should,” Jack says apologetically. “Otherwise I’m going to just be thinking about it.”

“Okay. Okay. Did you want me to leave the room?” He starts to slide off of Jack’s lap, but Jack catches him about the wrist with his free hand.

“No,” he says. “Stay. I--If you don’t mind.”

Bitty presses a kiss to Jack’s forehead. “Of course I don’t mind, honey. Go ahead. Listen to your message. I’m right here.”

Jack lets out a gust of air and then unlocks his phone, dialing into his voicemail. It’s quiet in the room, and though Bitty isn’t intending to eavesdrop, he can hear the message pretty clearly.

 _“Hey Zimms. So guess it wasn’t just speculation after all, huh? I mean--you do you, you know. Congrats and shit. I’m uh…”_ a pause _“Look, you looked happy. So. I hope you are.”_

The message sounds a little stilted, but there’s nothing in it that’s untoward, or even all that mean sounding. But Jack is still sitting ramrod straight, clutching his phone. Bitty slowly reaches out, let’s Jack see what he’s doing, and takes the phone away. Jack lets go easily, and Bitty turns it to silent then shifts to place it on the coffee table. He turns back into Jack’s arms, and Jack immediately goes to pull him in close, pressing his face into the crook of Bitty’s neck. Bitty reaches up to stroke through Jack’s hair.

“I’m not going to ask,” Bitty says after several minutes of silence, “But I’m here if you wanna tell me.”

Jack lets out a harsh breath against Bitty’s skin. “I don’t know what I’m feeling.”

“It… didn’t sound like a _bad_ message,” Bitty tries.

“I know. I know, it wasn’t. Anyone else and I wouldn’t care. Or I’d be happy. But just… ‘I hope you are,’” he says, mimicking the voice and tone. “It sounds like a dig.”

Bitty thinks it over. “You want my opinion?” Jack nods against his neck. “I think if this is that person you have a history with, and you antagonize each other, eventually everything can sound like a dig even if it’s not meant as one. It’s just what you start hearing. But, to me, it sounded like he was trying to congratulate you and didn’t really know how to do it.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Do you want _him_ to be happy, Jack?”

Jack looks up, surprised. “Of course I do. I wish--” he cuts himself off. “I wish I could figure out how we could be friends again.”

“It sounds like he kind of wants the same things,” Bitty says tentatively. “But it’s hard when you don’t know how to talk to each other anymore without making yourselves mad.”

“Yeah. I--Yeah.” Jack arms grip Bitty tighter for a second, before relaxing. “I--I’ll call him later.”

Bitty continues carding through Jack’s hair with one hand, and after another moment Jack lets out a long breath and presses a kiss to Bitty’s neck.

“Thanks,” he says, leaning back a little. “That helped.”

“You wanna get started on dinner?”

Jack shakes his head. “I’d rather just stay here with you for a little bit.”

Bitty curls up in Jack’s lap on the couch and they drift like that for a while, Jack cuddling him close, occasionally exchanging kisses. Bitty spends part of the time staring at the painting on the far wall, blue and green swirls in a Lardo original. It’s very calming, and he can see why Jack liked it.

Eventually Bitty shifts and looks up at Jack looking down at him and says, “C’mon, you haven’t even introduced me to your kitchen yet. Let’s go get dinner started, hm?” Jack nods, kissing Bitty again before letting him stand up.

The air is subdued but not in a bad way, more relaxed and languid, with Jack not all that inclined to speak. He sticks close to Bitty and Bitty is happy to let him, bumping hips and brushing arms as he dances around the kitchen and cooks.

He does make a deal about Jack’s double-oven, which has Jack chuckling, and while the chicken is baking and the vegetables and lentils are simmering, opens up the cupboard to search for flour and sugar, because he can at _least_ whip together a sugar cookie dough while he’s at it.  

There are three different bags of flour in the pantry, all unopened (white, wheat, and cake), along with four different types of sugar (table, light brown, dark brown, and powdered). Bitty stares at them and then turns to stare at Jack.

Jack ducks his head. “I wanted to be ready in case you wanted to make something. I bought butter too. And um, flavorings?” He points to another shelf, and there are all-new extract bottles, in vanilla, almond, mint, along with a variety of spices, like cinnamon and nutmeg and clove and pumpkin.

This _man._

Bitty might be a little speechless, because that’ll _happen_ when he is face-to-face with a wall of baking ingredients that Jack bought _expressly for him_ , because Jack doesn’t bake, has never baked, but he went out and got three different kinds of chocolate chips _just in case_ Bitty was visiting and wanted to bake something.

He takes a step forward and then _throws_ himself at Jack, and Jack is laughing as Bitty pulls Jack down to meet him so he can pepper his face with kisses. He only stops when the oven timer beeps, but he does stop, because no one likes over-baked chicken.

Jack sets the table while Bitty takes the chicken out of the oven and stirs the veggie and lentil dish he made, turning off the heat and bringing the pans to the table.

It’s quiet as they serve themselves, and then Bitty can help himself no longer and says, “Jack, three flours and four sugars, _really_?”

“I don’t know anything about baking,” Jack says, but he’s smiling. “I wanted to make sure I was prepared for you.”

“I’m not prepared for _you_ . I was just gonna make some sugar cookies but _please_ tell me you have a springform pan.”

“What’s that?”

“Bless your heart. Next time I come over, I’m bringing one _with_ me.”

“So you’re coming back, then?” Jack grins.

“I love you for your oven and your pantry.” And then Bitty freezes, because that’s--that’s a strong word, even to use as a joke, and what if Jack doesn’t--

“I thought you loved me for my body,” Jack says without missing a beat. “Make up your mind.”

Bitty snorts a laugh and takes another bite of food. If his mouth is full, he can’t babble.

“It’s really good,” Jack says, after a moment. “Thanks for making it.”

“You’re welcome! Did you like the seasoning on the chicken? See, it doesn’t have to be boring and plain just because it’s in your diet plan. The more varied your flavors, the better it is to eat.”

“Mm.”

Bitty chatters on about the recipes, which is silly because he did all that while he was doing the actual cooking too, but Jack seems perfectly content to just sit there and listen. Once in awhile he asks a question, looking nothing but interested.

By the time they’ve cleaned their plates and Jack has loaded everything into the dishwasher (he hadn’t let Bitty help), Bitty has moved from talking about dinner prep to updating Jack on The Great Jam Debate.

“It’s a good thing,” Jack tells him, nosing into Bitty’s hair. They’ve moved back to the couch, the timer for the sugar cookies ticking down on Bitty’s phone. “The guys have been asking me for updates. You’re a minor celebrity.”

“ _Minor_?”

“Well,” Jack says, “You were only on TV _once_.”

Bitty pinches him, which has Jack chuckling and then he’s running his fingers over Bitty’s ribs and that is _not fair_ because while firm touches make him shiver, light ones are _ticklish_ and Bitty tries to give back as good as he gets because he’s small and fast and can _wiggle_ but Jack is still bigger and a lot heavier. It ends with Jack pinning him down to the couch, Bitty staring up at him. They’re both flushed from laughing and breathing hard.

“Hi,” Bitty says.

“Hey,” Jack murmurs, before leaning down.

They make out lazily, twining around each other, both aware that they can’t go _too_ far because of the cookies in the oven that Bitty will _not_ let burn no matter what, especially not since they’re the first baked good to grace the oven since Jack took ownership. Instead it’s gentle touches (and _firm_ strokes down Bitty’s sides) and mapping out the insides of each other’s mouths. Bitty bites at Jack’s bottom lip and pulls just to watch Jack shudder (payback). When the timer goes off, Jack grumbles good-naturedly but follows Bitty off the couch and back into the kitchen.

Bitty takes the cookies out of the oven and sets them aside to cool before hopping up onto the counter. Jack hangs back for a second, the silly man, so Bitty spreads his legs a little wider and holds out his hands. “C’mere.”

Jack smiles and goes.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mother's still in the hospital but she's doing a little better. Thank you to all the well-wishers. Means a lot. Nothing yet on the job front, but the week's still young yet. The fic sort of took a turn here so...I hope you like where it goes.

The third time they end up back on the couch, it’s to watch a movie. Jack flushes and says he’s been watching a lot of post-war documentaries but that they really don’t have to--and Eric interrupts to tell him to put on whatever he likes.

When they’re about twenty minutes into it, Eric’s eyes start sliding shut and he keeps jerking himself awake, trying to pay attention.

“It’s not even that I’m bored,” he says through a yawn. “It’s interesting! But it was a busy day, and I was up earlier than usual, and I worked myself into a fit of nerves over that silly three-minute addressing of the public--”

“It’s okay,” Jack says, because it is. The arm curled around Eric’s shoulders pulls him closer. “Do you want to lie down? Close your eyes? I don’t mind.”

“Mm, maybe I will,” Eric says, eyes already sliding shut again. Jack likes it, how Eric tucks himself into Jack’s side. They’ve almost spent more time cuddling than doing anything else, and Jack finds that really nice. The moments aren’t as intense and they--they don’t need to be.

He likes just _being_ with Eric. Talking to him, and texting him, and touching him. The kissing and sex--great, definitely, no mistakes there, but just being able to sit like this and hold Eric is something different. It’s almost something new.

Jack alternates between watching the documentary and watching Eric as the latter drifts, eventually shifting Eric down so that his head is pillowed on Jack’s thigh. He snuffles once and curls in on himself, and Jack worries that Eric might be cold. He manages to snag the blanket that he keeps draped over the back of the couch and covers Eric with it, smiling as one of Eric’s hands closes over the hem.

“Hey,” Jack murmurs later, when the credits are rolling. “Hey, c’mon.”

“Mmn?” Eric says muzzily, as he stirs. He looks sleep-mussed and beautiful, and Jack’s heart thuds inside his chest.

“Documentary’s over. Did you want to go to bed?” They’re both used to earlier nights, after all.

“Ugh, look at me,” Eric pouts. “Can’t even keep my eyes open. I’m sorry. I feel like I wasted our night.”

“Don’t. It was nice. I liked spending time with you.”

“I was _asleep_.”

“It was nice,” Jack repeats. “Now do you want to walk to bed or am I going to have to carry you?”

“Oh my lord you _could_ , couldn’t you.”

Jack chuckles. “I’m pretty sure I could manage it.”

“No, no, I’m up, I’m up.” Eric pushes himself up into a sitting position, pecking Jack on the cheek. “But let it not go unsaid that the fact that you _could_ carry me is kind of a turn-on.”

“Only kind-of?”

Eric laughs and swats him. “Fishing for compliments, on the other hand…”

In response, Jack moves quickly, getting an arm underneath Eric’s knees and the other on his back and _lifting_. Eric goes up with a startled yelp, and then he’s giggling, clutching at Jack’s shirt.

“Show-off,” he says, the words colored with affection. “Fine then, if you really want to.” He points dramatically, even as his other hand covers a yawn. “To bed!”

Jack walks quickly toward the bedroom, and, though he had thought about lowering Eric down gently, drops him instead because he knows it’ll make Eric laugh.

Eric doesn’t disappoint, laughing as he bounces. Then he pulls off his shirt and Jack’s throat goes dry. “Well?” Eric looks up at him, eyes half-lidded. “Coming?”

Jack takes his own shirt off, shucks his pants, his socks, throws everything in his laundry basket before coming back to the bed in just his boxers. Eric has already stripped down completely and though he’s pulled the covers back, he hasn’t gotten underneath them.

This time it’s sleepy and slow. Jack is determined to map out as much of Eric as he can, find all the spots that make him let out quiet gasps. Eric curls his hands around Jack’s elbows, cards through his hair, keeps pulling Jack up for kisses as Jack strokes down the planes of his stomach. Jack has to be mindful of not using his mouth exactly where he wants to, but he makes up for it by using it everywhere _else_.

The little, “ _Ah, ah, ah!_ ” noises Eric makes just before he comes are up there with the best sounds Jack has ever heard.

Eric flops back among the pillows, boneless and pliant, but he’s moving forward a second later, batting Jack’s hand away to replace it with his own. Jack comes after just a few more moments, one hand bracing him on the bed, shuddering underneath Eric’s fingers.

He reaches over to the bedside table to snag some tissues and carefully cleans up their hands, wadding the used tissue up and throwing it into the wastebasket.

“Two points,” Eric murmurs, sounding sleepily impressed. “Now come back down here.” He opens his arms invitingly.

“I’ll crush you.”

“Worth it.”

“How about this instead,” Jack says, before lowering himself down next to Eric and turning onto his side. Eric immediately moves to throw an arm around him, tucking his chin over Jack’s shoulder. Jack grabs the covers and pulls them up, nestling back into Eric’s embrace.

 

\---

 

When Jack’s alarm goes off the next morning he’s up and shutting it off immediately, turning then to glance down at Eric, who opens one eye and then shuts it again, burying himself underneath the covers.

Jack presses a kiss into Eric’s hair, then pushes out of bed, going to use the bathroom and then quietly getting his things together for his morning run. He grabs his phone as he goes, because he always carries his phone on him now, and sends Eric a text before he leaves.

5:11AM Jack Zimmermann: Out for a run. If you’re up before I get back, make yourself at home.

Once he’s outside, he tries to blank his mind and start his warm-up like he usually does. After the first half mile, he meets Tater just coming around the corner to their usual spot.

They nod at each other, Jack fine with being quiet and even Tater a little subdued this early in the morning. He always starts to perk up after the second half-mile, and today is no different.

“So!” he says as they run, Jack concentrating on keeping his breath even. “This morning, you look happy.”

Jack had no idea he looked any different. “I usually look unhappy?”

Tater shakes his head. “No, no, just usual Zimmboni. But you are having a smile today. Good news?”

“Yesterday went pretty well. The conference went fine, no drama, that was nice.”

“Ah, good! Very good! And George says we treat it like we treat any questions about the WAGS, yes?”

“Yeah. No details unless Eric or I want to give any, because it’s not their business.”

“Yes, I understand,” Tater says seriously. “And?”

“And what?”

“And what else? A conference is good, but not your reason to smiling.” Jack gets the feeling that if they weren’t running side-by-side, feet pounding the pavement, that Tater would have tried to nudge his shoulder. As it stands, he just throws Jack a cheeky grin before turning his eyes back to the sidewalk.

“Eric stayed over last night.”

Tater’s reaction is loud and immediate. He _booms_ a laugh and then holds out his hand, still keeping pace. “High-five!”

“I--what?”

“No, no,” Tater shakes his hand in Jack’s face. “High-five! Good for you.”

Jack snorts but taps Tater’s hand with his own.

“I’m very much happy for you,” Tater says. “He’s nice guy. You like him, he likes you. Makes you happy, yes?”

And Jack knows he’s smiling now. He thinks of Eric and he can’t help it. “Yeah. Yeah, he does.”

“Jack,” and that’s when Jack knows to pay attention, when Tater drops a nickname, “Is so good. Good for you two both.”

“Thanks, Tater.”

“Of course!” Tater raises his eyebrows. “And so when I’m coming over, huh? He cooks good too?”

It startles a laugh out of Jack, that Tater cares so _much_. “I’ll talk to him,” He ends up saying. “I don’t think he’d mind having you over. Guess I wouldn’t either.”

“There is a boy, Zimmboni!” Tater reaches over to ruffle Jack’s sweaty hair as they continue their run.

 

\---

 

Jack gets back just after six, opening his door to hear some sort of hip-hop music playing from the kitchen. He takes off his sneakers and goes down the hall in socked feet. It’s a little bit of deja-vu, following music to Eric.

Eric is in the kitchen, humming along to whatever is playing. He’s wiping down the counter, something cooking in a pan that smells delicious. His hair is wet, messy in the way hair gets when it starts to air dry, and he’s wearing one of Jack’s work-out T-shirts, the kind that’s soft and stretched out. He must’ve pulled it out Jack’s closet. Must’ve gone specifically _into_ Jack’s closet to find a T-shirt to wear, so Jack could come back home to him like this.

Eric turns around and Jack realizes that he hasn’t moved, has just been standing in the kitchen doorway staring. “Oh! Welcome back.” He taps on his phone, and the music dims. “I didn’t hear the door. How was your run?”

“Good. I met up with Tater.”

“How’s he doing?” Eric wipes his hand on a dishtowel and leans down to check on the progress of whatever’s in the pan.

“Good. He tried to get himself invited over for dinner.”

Eric chuckles and looks back up at Jack. “Maybe we’ll be able to arrange something. Not today though. If that’s okay? I’d rather it just be us. We haven’t had a whole lotta time together.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Speaking of, are you gonna get over here and kiss me good morning or what?”

“I’m pretty gross,” Jack says, even as he walks forward. “Morning run and all.”

“Mm, have fun telling yourself that. C’mere.” Eric makes grabby hands, and Jack walks right into them.

“Morning,” he says, when he pulls away. It comes out immeasurably fond.

Eric stands on his toes to peck Jack on the lips one more time before he shoves at his shoulder. “Alright, go take your shower. I’m making breakfast.”

“What are you making?”

“Veggie scramble. You have plenty of eggs. Would have made a quiche, but the crust takes a lot longer and I wasn’t sure when you were coming back. This’ll be done by the time you’re out of the shower.”

Jack kind of wants to suggest Eric come with him, but he’s already showered and besides, Jack already knows from experience that he doesn’t leave food unattended. So instead he kisses Eric again, cupping the side of his face.

Eric eventually shoos him away, brandishing the spatula, because, “Mr. Zimmermann if you keep that up my scramble is going to burn!” Jack, laughing, retreats to take his shower.

 

\---

 

Even though it’s Bitty’s day off, Jack still has things that he needs to do. He leaves around eight forty-five for skating practice, promising to be back in a few hours, and that Bitty should make himself at home.

They’ve already got plans for the afternoon; Bitty looked up a cute restaurant that they’re going to go to for lunch, and then they’re actually going to go back to the rink. In planning for today, they’d talked about what to do and Jack had casually mentioned that he’d like to see Bitty on the ice. Bitty is part of an amatuer ice hockey league that he skates with Thursday nights, but he’s so busy with the bakery that he doesn’t get out to the rink much for anything else, though he tries to keep a standing appointment with himself once or twice a month, just to stay in practice. His jumps are sometimes shaky, but he still has them damn it.

Jack got them some private ice time.

Bitty brought his figure skates. He can’t _wait_ to see Jack’s reactions to what he can do.

In the meantime he has a _beautiful_ kitchen and goodness but a _bunch_ of ingredients. Jack might not expect to come home to a counter full of baked goods, but he’d be silly not to, because by god that’s what he’s going to get.

Jack also has frozen strawberries in the freezer, probably for smoothies, but Bitty has other plans for them. They’re bubbling in a pot on the stove, reducing down into what is going to be a lovely filling, when there is a loud knock on the front door.

Bitty freezes. Because Jack lives in an apartment. A very _nice_ apartment. With a doorman and everything. Which means whoever is knocking must have come in through the front door with no problem (so not fans, not the press), but doesn’t have the key to Jack’s actual apartment and is thus not Jack.

Who--?

The knock sounds again and Bitty jumps, startled. Jack isn’t here, and he doesn’t think that “make yourself at home” goes as far as, “open my front door to strangers.” Except this person _can’t_ be a stranger because whoever it is is knocking at Jack’s front door.

Maybe if Bitty just stays quiet whoever it is will go away.

More knocking, and a muffled, “I can _hear the music_ I know you’re home!”

Bitty yelps and grabs at his phone, but it’s too late, of course it’s too late, because _now_ not only has whoever it is heard him, but he’s also heard the music abruptly _stop_.

He wonders idly if he can die from sheer mortification. Except he knows he can’t, because if he _could_ have then he would’ve passed away in the eighth grade.

Instead he checks his phone, to see if Jack sent him any messages about someone coming over. Nothing since his last update telling Bitty that he’d gotten to the rink and that the guys all say hello (Tater spilled the beans).

The knocking doesn’t stop now, and Bitty gets the feeling that it won’t stop until he goes up to that damn door. He takes a deep breath and makes the walk, looking through the peephole first because he’s not a moron.

And then he has to promptly cover his mouth with his free hand to avoid making any noise, because that is _definitely_ Aces Captain Kent Parson on the other side.


	14. Chapter 14

Aces Captain Kent Parson, who lives in _Las Vegas_. Here. At Jack’s front door.

 _When Jack isn’t home_.

Bitty has spent a lot of time looking Jack up since first meeting him, because first he was curious and then Jack was interesting and the long and short of it is that Bitty learned a _lot_ about Jack before they started actually dating and he started feeling a little weird about how much of Jack’s life he’d gotten out of internet searches.

The point being--

The point being that he knows, a little, about Jack’s history with Parson. Enough that, thinking it over now, with Kent on the other side of the door, _“We antagonize each other.”_ and, of course, “ _I’ll call him later_.”

Bitty guesses that Jack didn’t call Parson back. And he wouldn’t have, because Bitty has _been here_ , he would’ve known--

Parson knocks again. “Zimms, I will literally stand here all day. I got nothing better to do.”

Good _lord_ did Parson _fly down here_ because Jack didn’t return a _phone call_?

When Bitty checks the peephole again, Parson is leaning against the opposite wall, frowning down at his phone. He actually looks like he really might be waiting until the door opens.

Bitty frantically dials Jack’s number. It rings six times, then goes to Jack’s voicemail. “Hi Jack,” Bitty says, trying not to sound as frantic as he feels. “Um! I hope you’re having a good day. Nothing’s wrong! I don’t think? But could you maybe call me as soon as you get this? If you’re not too busy?” And then he hangs up and looks through the peephole again. Kent Parson is still there.

Bitty does not know what to do.

The logical thing, obviously, would be to wait until Jack’s called him back. Or gets home. He’s honestly not sure which might come first.

He calls again.

Two rings, three rings, four rings-- “Eric?”

“Jack! You picked up!”

“Yeah we’re--we’re on break right now. I saw you called, I was just about the check my messages. Are you okay?”

“I… kind of?”

“Eric,” oh no, that’s Jack’s serious voice, “What’s wrong?”

“Kent Parson is outside your door and he knocked like three times and he heard my music so he knows someone’s home and he’s not going away,” Bitty says, very fast.

“Hold on-- _what_? Parse is--Parse is at my place?”

“I guess he got past the doorman? And came to your apartment? And he won’t leave! He basically said he was gonna set up camp! What should I do?” Bitty should probably tone down the nervous energy but he’s honestly feeling kind of trapped, even though he’d had absolutely no plans to leave the apartment until Jack got home.

“He said--you talked to him?”

Bitty shakes his head even though he knows Jack can’t see it. “No, no he said it through the door. That he’d stand there all day cause he doesn’t have anything better to do.”

“...sounds like Parse,” Jack sighs. “Listen, you do not have to do anything you don’t want to. If you don't want to open the door, that's fine. If you want to tell him I’m not home and that he can take a hike, go right ahead.”

“I--okay. But. What do you want me to do? Or not do?”

There is a pause. “Probably he wants to talk to me about you, to convince me to let him meet you,” Jack says eventually. “I guess… vet you?”

“Kent Parson wants to give me the _shovel talk_?” Bitty absolutely does not say hysterically.

“I--I’m sorry, Eric, my break’s almost over and I can’t--I can’t think about this right now. I can’t. I’m sorry. Do what you want. I trust you. I have to go.” And then Jack hangs up.

Eric stares at his phone. Stares at the door.

Squares his shoulders, and goes to open it.

 

\---

 

Jack hates himself a little bit for hanging up, but he’s at the rink right now and he can’t _do anything_ . If he thinks about it he’ll just keep on thinking about it, running the thoughts around in his head until he’s all but useless until he gets home and he _can’t_. He needs to concentrate on practice and not think about Eric and Kent and whatever Kent wants and--

Eric can handle himself. He likes Jack. Jack would like to believe that there isn’t anything that Kent could say that would ruin things. Do damage maybe, something they’d need to talk about maybe, but--

He can’t think about it. If he does, he’ll spiral, because there’s nothing he can do. And he’s _not_ giving into the blind rage that is Parse just _showing up unannounced at his apartment while Eric is there alone_ \--

Jack clenches his fists and pushes it down and concentrates on hockey.

 

\---

 

Bitty yanks open the door all at once, and with such force that Parson actually looks a little startled. “Hi,” he says, tone even as he can get it. “Jack’s not home. Sorry.”

“You had to keep me waiting for fifteen minutes to tell me that?” Kent says, before holding out his hand. “Kent Parson.”

It takes Eric aback. “Uh, Eric Bittle,” he says, shaking Kent’s hand. The grip is firm, but Kent doesn’t try to crush his fingers. Small mercies.

“Yeah, I know.” Then Kent frowns. “Do you smell something burning?”

“My filling!”

So of course Bitty has to run into the kitchen to see if he can save it and Parson _follows him_ because of course he does.

Which is how they both end up in the kitchen together.

“Um.” Bitty says. He had not exactly intended to invite Kent in, but now he _is_ in. “Scone?”

“Sure, thanks,” Kent says, just… plopping down at the kitchen table. Like he belongs there.

This is the same guy who made Jack so mad he yelled at Bitty over it.

This is the same guy who called, and Jack nearly had a panic attack over whether or not to answer the phone.

But this is also the same guy who Jack wants to be happy. Who Jack wants to be friends with again. Bitty can be _pleasant_.

“So,” Bitty says, once a scone is plated and slide in front of Kent, because he is _trying to be hospitable_. “Jack isn’t here.”

“Yeah, heard you. You know when he’ll be back?”

“Um, he’s at skating practice. So probably not for another hour or two.”

“Okay. I can wait.”

Bitty does not want to wait an hour or two alone with Kent Parson. “Uh,” he says. “Or you could. Come back? When he’s home?”

“Wanna see his baby pictures?”

The answer to that is yes, _yes Bitty does_. But also that doesn’t seem like something Kent should be allowed to offer?

“That’s okay,” he says slowly. “I’m good.” Bitty leans against the counter, turned out to face Kent. “Look, I’m going to level with you, I don’t think Jack’s going to be too fussed that you’re here. Why uh, why are you here?”

“I wanted to talk to Zimms.”

“You live _across the country_.”

“Yeah, and the time difference is a bitch, lemme tell you.” Kent takes a bite of the scone. “Not bad.”

Bitty doesn’t like him very much. “Jack was going to call you back today. You didn’t have to like, _fly_ here.”

“Yeah,” Kent says, “But it’s not a big deal. I’m sort of loaded. And this way he _has_ to talk to me.”

“Because you’re going to stay here until he does.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Oh my _god_. That’s--that’s so stupid. Are you listening to yourself? You sound five.”

Kent raises an eyebrow. “You got a better idea, Bittle? I’m sure you do.” He leans forward. “After all, you’re the guy dating him.”

Bitty does not rear back. “If you have a problem with me--”

Kent--the best word to describe it is freezes. Like, he just, his movement just stops. Then he shakes his head. “...Sorry,” he says, after a long moment, and the tone is suddenly less abrasive somehow. “I’m not actually trying to pick a fight with you.”

“O… kay.” _You aren’t_?

“I mean it. I’m not. I--look.” He lets out a breath. “I dunno how much Zimms told you about me. We’ve… got a history. But I really do want him to be happy. If that’s you, then that’s--that’s fine.”

“Okay,” Bitty says again, warily.

“Fuck, I’m so bad at this. Look. We were kids. I was an asshole, and so was he, and we were both fucking kids. We just forget that a lot. That we’ve both grown up. When we’re with each other. But I’m fucking _trying_ okay.”

“I--okay.” Bitty is not quite sure what to do with this information. “I--I think he knows you’re trying. It’s just. Hard for him to get past all the stuff that happened? I think. I do not actually know, because I’m not Jack. Who is the actual person you should be having this conversation with.”

“Yeah, but you do know him. You’re dating him. Gimme some insight.”

“Why.” And oh, that might’ve come out a little harsher than he meant it. “I mean--this isn’t actually my _business_.”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

“Kent,” Bitty says patiently, “I’m not on your side. I’m on Jack’s side. And that means that if he doesn’t want to talk about this just yet, I’m not _gonna_. Even if you talk at me. I’ll blast Beyonce, see if I don’t.”

Kent looks at him from his seat at the table, shoulders hunched. He takes another bite of the scone. “His side, huh?”

Bitty shrugs. “Like you said, I know him. Better’n I know you. I’d rather not take a side at all, honestly, but you’re kind of forcing my hand here.”

Kent is quite for a moment. “You know, I almost visited your bakery.” He turns the plate in his hands. “Zimms warned me away. I figured, alright, if he’s that adamant I keep my distance, I will. Respect his boundaries, you know?” He lets go of the plate, hands moving to clench around the lip of the table. “But I had to find out he was actually dating you from a _press release._ Like, he couldn’t just come out and tell me, I didn’t fucking even get to know privately. The first person he’s dated in _years_ , the first _guy_ since--” He cuts himself off, and Bitty kind of hates himself for how badly he wishes Kent had finished that sentence.

Bitty takes a breath. He’s grown and learned a lot in his life, and he understands disappointment and he understands heartache. “Kent. I’m sure Jack will talk to you. He wants to talk to you. And if it’ll help, I will personally talk to him about talking to you. But Jack is busy a lot. _I’m_ busy a lot. I last saw him in person on Tuesday. And you’re encroaching in that, right now. That’s not fair to me _or_ Jack, and if you are here when he gets home, I don’t think he’s going to thank you for it.”

Kent just looks at him. Bitty can’t read his face. “You’ll talk to him about talking to me?”

“I think it’d be good if you both cleared the air a little. I don’t know how well it’ll go the first few times, but it’ll help Jack, I think. He actually wants it to happen.”

“If he didn’t?”

“Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation, because I would have left you outside.”

Kent leaves soon after that, without much fuss. He does insist on giving Bitty his number, “just in case,” and Bitty sends him away with a bag of scones. He’s not completely heartless.

 

\---

 

Jack is breathing hard by the time he’s finished with his shower, keeping it as short as he can. He barely towels off before leaping into his clothes, dialing Eric as he grabs up his things, phone cradled against his ear.

Eric answers after the first ring, like he was just waiting for Jack to call.

“Jack!” And he sounds much more relaxed now, much less frantic. Jack feels relief blossom in his chest. “Are you done?”

“Hi,” he says. “Yeah, I am. Um. How are… how are things?”

“Kent left,” Eric says immediately. “We talked a little bit, but nothing really bad, and he was doing his level best to play nice, I think. I’ll give you more details when you get home? It’s really nothing you need to worry about, but it is something we should probably talk about.” Eric sounds apologetic, like it’s his fault Parse decided to intrude on their day.

“We’ll talk quick,” Jack promises. “And then we’ll go out to eat, and we’ll have our ice time. I’m fine. Okay?”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. I’ll see you in a few, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you.” He doesn’t say _I love you_ , but it’s--there. On the tip of his tongue. He wants to say it. He has to think about that.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are in the home stretch, guys. Just a few more chapters to go.
> 
> Thank you for all your kind words.

When Jack gets home and gets inside, Eric is waiting for him on the couch, fiddling with his phone. Jack wastes no time, dropping his stuff and rushing forward, fairly clinging to Eric like he’s worried he won’t get another chance to. He needs a moment to be quiet, to try to settle himself. Because he’s still furious at Parse and he doesn’t want to yell, especially not at Eric who doesn’t deserve it.

Eric uses his free hand to press into Jack’s back. Jack doesn’t realize that he’s shaking until he processes Eric’s muffled noises.

“Shh, it’s fine, honey. He didn’t do a thing and didn’t even say anything too forward. Shh, you’re okay, you’re okay…”

“I’m sorry,” Jack manages. “I’m sorry I’m like this.”

“You will apologize for no such thing. You just tell me when you feel a little calmer and I can tell you everything that happened.”

“You can tell me now. I want to hear it now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. And--and I like to hear your voice.”

“This hick drawl, are you kidding?” But Eric does keep talking, explaining to Jack how Parse had knocked on the door and startled Eric out of his baking reverie, how he’d kept knocking and talked through the door, how Eric had accidentally let him inside-- (“I’m sorry about that, by the way.” “It’s okay.”) and how they had talked. What they’d talked about.

“I think he was mostly upset that he’d tried to talk to you about your um, your relationship with me before and you shut him down, and then well, when you announced it--he was feeling hurt, I guess.”

“So he flies down here on a whim.” Jack rubs at his face. “Sounds like Parse.”

“He did apologize to me after he got too wound up,” Eric offers quietly. “That’s something.”

“Yeah. If he can’t be nice to you then--” Jack stops. Clenches his teeth. He doesn’t know what he was going to say.

“Well, that doesn’t matter because he was. Sort of. As nice as he could be, I think. He didn’t seem the type to really know what to do with strangers who didn’t _already_ like him, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Jack says again. “Sounds about right.”

“But I think you should. Um. Call him.”

“I will.”

“Right now.”

Jack looks up at Eric, eyes questioning. They’ve shifted so that Jack is lying down in Eric’s lap, and he wishes he could enjoy it more. “Now?”

Eric nods, looking unhappy. “I mean--I want to have our day, Jack. I want _you_ to have it. And I kinda think that if you don’t get this over with now, it’ll be hanging over your head.”

Jack sighs. Eric’s right. Of course he is. “You’re right. You’re right. I’ll--” He sits up and works his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” As Jack walks towards his bedroom, he just glimpses Eric hunch over and pull his own phone out.

His stomach is tense when it rings, and Jack is trying not to seethe by the time Parse warily says, “Hello?”

“I’m going say some things, and I need you to be fucking quiet until I’m done,” Jack says. “I mean it. Or I will hang up right now and I will never talk to you again.”

“...Okay.” He knows that tone, can picture Parse’s face, tense and wary. “Shoot.”

“That was not okay. Coming here out of the blue. It’s not okay you did that. It’s not okay you think you can do that to me.” He pauses there, because he’s still expecting Parse to interrupt, but nothing happens, so Jack keeps going. “I’m--trying to be better. I’m willing to try to be better with you. But there are _boundaries_ , Kent. You can’t just--cross them whenever you want, just because you want to. I’m willing to talk to you, on neutral ground maybe, but my life is my life. I’m the one who gets to choose how much of you is in it.” He’s breathing hard now, holding his phone too tightly, but he’s said what he needs to say, and he hasn’t raised his voice. “Okay. Your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Your turn to talk. I won’t interrupt.”

“My--shit, Zimms, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to like, upset the delicate balance that is you and your boy. I just wanted to be happy for you.” Jack stays quiet, clamping down on his words. “...Jack?”

“It’s your turn to talk, until you tell me it’s my turn.”

“For fuck’s--yeah, go ahead.”

“It’s not just about my relationship with Eric,” Jack says immediately. “That’s not what this is about. It’s about you crossing lines that I put down. I was going to _call you back_ , Kent. I was. And you should have just _waited_ . Even if you didn’t want to. That’s what--that’s what having a relationship is _about_.”

“If you’d just fucking _talk_ to me--”

“For my benefit? Or for yours?”

There is a sudden, sharp pause. “Fuck, Jack.”  

Jack sighs and sits down on his bed. He doesn’t, in fact, _want_ to be mad at Kent, and it drains out of him now, leaving him tired. “Maybe you could think about that,” he says quietly. “And I’ll call you back later. Not today. Tomorrow.”

“Right.” Kent sounds subdued now too. “Cause today’s your date-day.”

“Yeah. Yeah I--we had stuff planned for the afternoon.”

“Did I fuck it up?”

“No. No, it’ll be fine. I um, I skipped PR to come straight home so we’re still pretty much on time.”

“...Sorry.” It sounds like he’s apologizing for a lot of different things.

“It’s not okay,” Jack says, remembering how Eric had put it, “But I understand. I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay? I promise.”

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

“How long are you in?”

“Few days. Figured I could hit up NYC.”

“Okay.” Jack doesn’t offer anything yet, but he thinks about it. Knows Kent probably knows that too. “I’ll call you tomorrow. I’ll text you what time, when I figure it out.”

They hang up. Jack lets out a breath and gives himself a moment to just sit. That went… that went pretty well. And he didn’t yell even once.

Eric is staring at his phone when Jack goes back into the living room, but he stands up when he sees him. “How did it go?”

“Not… bad. You were right. I feel better. Saying what I needed to and asking him to actually hear me out. I think we’re both going to get better at trying.”

“That’s great,” Eric smiles encouragingly. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

“How does lunch sound, now that that’s out of the way?”

Jack tries out a smile, and it doesn’t feel too out of place. “That sounds fantastic.”

 

\---

 

They’re both still somewhat subdued when they get to the bistro, and all through getting drinks and giving their orders, Jack wracks his brain for something to say, to break the tension.

He’s frowning down at his ice water then there is a sharp beep and Eric jumps, looking guilty. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. It beeps twice more in his hand. “Lemme just turn the volume off--”

“It’s fine,” Jack says. “You can check it. What is it?”

Eric doesn’t meet Jack’s eyes. “Nothing! Sorry, it’s just--nothing.”

“Eric,” Jac says firmly. “You said if something happened you’d… you’d talk to me. Are you getting more nasty messages?” He kicks himself for being so stupid. Here he’s been running in circles just because of Parse, and Eric’s been dealing with the whole of the internet spitting abuse at him. Jack could stand to be less _selfish_.

“I’m getting a _lot_ of messages,” Eric replies, and there’s a high thread of uncertainty in his voice. “I’ve gotten three thousand followers on youtube in the last day. More on twitter. It’s just… it’s just a lot.”

Jack has been figuring out that Eric is the type to tuck his own feelings down and away, and not share them if it means making anyone else upset. Jack can understand that behavior but he doesn’t want to encourage it. Especially not in Eric.

He reaches over and gently clasps Eric’s free hand with both of his. “Please tell me what’s wrong. You said you would.”

“Oh.” Eric looks down at their hands. “I just--it’s nothing really. A lot of the messages have been very nice! But some um, haven’t been. And I guess you’d think I’d be--used to it, getting um, getting called things considering my entire school experience before college but um. But maybe that’s part of the reason why it still hurts so much.” He looks down at the table and Jack can see that his eyes are wet, and he feels _so much_ in that moment he doesn’t know what to do first.

“Do you want to go?” he asks quietly. He hates feeling vulnerable in public; he can’t imagine Eric would like it all that much either. “I didn’t mean to make you upset here. We can, if you want. Get our food to go and go back to my place.”

Eric sniffs and wipes at his eyes and shakes his head. “No, no, I’m fine. I like it here. I didn’t mean to, you know, lose it like that. I think it’s just a lot. That I’m realizing it’s going to be a lot.”

Jack’s heart breaks, but the idea that Eric is hurting is worse. “If you--if you don’t want to date me anymore, I understand.”

Eric looks up in surprise. His eyes are so wide it’s almost comical. “What? No! No, of course not! I really like you Jack. I’m willing to go along with the rest of it, for you.”

Jack can’t help his smile. “I’m really glad. I’m sorry you have to deal with it at all, but I’m glad you… think it’s worth it.”

“You--you don’t have to worry about _that_ , goodness Jack! I’m just a little overwhelmed, is all. I’ll figure it out.”

“ _We’ll_ figure it out.” Jack thinks about it. “Maybe I can talk to George about you spending some time with the PR team. Would that help?”

“I--that--” Eric blinks at him. “Yes. Yes, that’d be--Jack, that’d be wonderful. I mean, I’ve got a mean twitter game, and I have rules about not feeding trolls anyway, unless they bash a recipe of mine for no good reason of course, but getting a bit more insight on how to manage things would be great.”

“Okay, I’ll ask.”

“Thank you!”

Jack thinks it’s crazy that Eric’s thanking him for something so little. He’d give him so much more, if he could. He’s going to _try_. “Sure.”

Their food comes then, and it’s perfect timing because the mood is a little lighter and anyway Jack is kind of starving. Eric teases him on the intensity with which he attacks his entree and things feel a lot better. More right.

 

\---

 

Bitty loves the ice, he really does. He loves baking, wouldn’t change his job or his choices for the world, but having a rink practically to himself just to let _go_ is amazing, and he loves that Jack thought of this, for him.

He’s thoroughly warmed up now, doing laps just for fun, increasing his speed bit by bit, and then Jack is skating next to him egging him on to go faster and Bitty pushes through with a burst until they’re racing around the rink, Bitty ahead by far and isn’t _that_ an exhilarating feeling.

He turns it into a jump just because he can, and when he lands out of the spin, grinning ear to ear because there was not even a bit of shake, he _stuck_ it, Jack is just standing on the ice, watching him.

Bitty skates over to him, hands clasped behind his back. “Having fun?”

“I’d like to get tested, with you,” Jack blurts out. He looks a little shocked at himself, but then nods resolutely. “I mean. Yes. That is what I mean.”

“Um,” Bitty says. “Okay? I--yes. That’d be… good. What uh, what brought this on, just now?”

Jack shrugs. “I want you to feel safe with me. And I want to be able to blow you without a condom.”

“Jack!” Bitty flushes and immediately looks around, even though they are alone in the rink and Jack wasn’t being all that loud. “You can’t--just _say_ things like that.”

“Why not?” Jack asks, skating forward. “It’s true.”

Lord have _mercy_. “B-be that as it may,” Bitty says, skating backwards, just out of reach, “We are _civilized people_ we don’t just--discuss things of that nature in public.”

Jack makes a show of looking around the empty rink. “What public?”

“Jack Zimmermann!” But Bitty knows it’s a losing battle, he’s already laughing at the absurdity of it all. Jack skates forward, catches Bitty around the waist, and he’s gone. “Alright, alright, yes, I give. It’s a good idea anyway.”

“Today?”

“Are you-- _really_?”

“Sooner is better than later, right?”

“I suppose that is a fair point but--”

“Besides,” Jack interrupts, “If we do it today, we should have results back by next week.”

  


\---

 

It is kind of a weird way to end a date day. Especially since Jack had completely bypassed the idea of going somewhere public and had just called the team doctor to ask if that was something they could get done in-house. Which. Bitty could admit that the added privacy was nice. Along with, _we’ll have your results in a couple of days_. But it’s also nice, that Jack has thought about this, has taken Bitty’s “safety is sexy” to heart this much. It’s a different sort of romantic, and one Bitty is thoroughly for.

After, when they go back to Jack’s apartment and Jack shows Bitty just how _much_ he’d appreciated the appointment, well.

That’s nice too.

Bitty ends up getting back to his own place just after seven at night. He’s sort of exhausted  and he still has to go grocery shopping but playing over everything that happened, even the downs, there is nothing he would have changed.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took a little longer to get this chapter up, but my mother is finally home from the hospital! Thank you all for your well-wishes. It's going to be a long recovery, but there is going to be a recovery.

Several things happen.

Jack has his phone call with Kent. They talk. Jack doesn’t lose his temper and yell, though he does tell Kent to back off once. Kent does. They agree to try to skype, so that they can see each other’s faces.

Bitty ends up meeting with Dana, from the Falconers PR team, and she shows him how to manually change his youtube spam detection to classify certain words, and thus the comments that contain them, as spam. That helps a lot. Approximately half of the Falconers also start following him on twitter and between them, his friends, and his nice followers, that helps a lot too.

They continue to skype and call and text, and keep on talking through the influx of people visiting Bitty’s bakery out of curiosity, and the new questions that Jack and the team get in PR. The latter of which is mostly ignored. Jack’s a private person, after all.

Eric gets a huge order for Tuesday that has him baking all Monday to get ready for it, so Jack drives up after practice to keep him company. It’s another day spent mostly in, but he already knew that he liked that sort of thing, that it’s not what he does with Eric but  _ being _ with Eric that matters. Even if Eric spends half the day baking up a storm and apologizing for the tears of frustration that threaten to leak out after two of the seven layers in his cake collapse and he has to re-do them. Jack can’t help him bake, but he can reach for things when Eric needs them, and he can hold him when he sobs over the ruined layer cake, and he can remember to ask him what a “sproinging pan” is to make him smile.

They do get their tests back. Which prompts another conversation about kissing after certain activities. Bitty is still a little squeamish and Jack is nothing if not willing to compromise, but in the end Bitty agrees to try. He actually finds he likes it, tasting himself in Jack’s mouth. And he likes being able to give back as good as he gets, too.

Life goes on.

 

\---

 

They’re talking on skype the first time Jack says, “I love you.” He’d been thinking the words more and more, wanting to say them and then holding back, not sure if Eric wants those words yet. When he actually says it, it’s because he’s sleepy and sated and they just slip out, feeling so natural after so long running around in his head.

After they’re out, he doesn’t feel like he wants to catch the words or slip them back in, but he is suddenly a lot more awake, unsure as to how Eric will react. Their relationship is still young yet, even if Jack…

Even if Jack is pretty sure of what he wants, with Eric. Eventually.

Eric reaches out a hand, almost as if to touch the screen. His eyes are wide and dark and brown. “Say that again?” he asks.

Given permission, Jack will say it and never stop. He’ll bookend every conversation with it. “I love you.” And, because he can, “I love you,” he says again. He means it more each time. 

Eric smiles at him, warm and fond. “I love you too, Jack.”

Jack feels on top of the world. 

 

\---

 

“Hey, Eric,” Jack says, as he pulls out the eggs. “Are you busy?”

“Hey handsome!” Just hearing Eric’s voice through the phone makes Jack happy. “Just rolling out some pie crust. You don’t usually call in the afternoon; I almost didn’t answer, till I realized it was you. What’s up?”

The fact that Eric answers his phone during the day when it’s Jack calling makes Jack feel like he’s just been hugged. “I can call back, if you’re busy--”

“Sweetheart, I can make pie in my sleep at this point. Whatcha calling about?”

“Nothing really. I just got home and I thought of you, so I called.”

“You just got back in? I thought that wasn’t until tomorrow!”

“The charity thing we were supposed to do got canceled, so they put us on an earlier flight home.” Jack’s wiped to be honest, and he wants nothing more than to take a nap, but then he’d thought of calling Eric and, well.

“Welcome home then! Lord, you must be beat.”

“I was planning on a quick nap. Just making something to eat first.”

“Good, glad you’re taking care of yourself. What are you making?”

“That scramble you taught me. It’s quick. And good.”

“Aw, Jack.”

“Tell me about your day?” He’s too tired for much conversation, but he wants to listen to Eric.

“Sure thing, honey. Actually, this is something I wanted to run by you. I’m thinking about hiring--” Jack shifts and repositions the phone as he adds the eggs and vegetables to a pan. If he concentrates, he can imagine Eric right there next to him, talking about his day while he rolls out pie dough.

 

\---

 

“Hey honey,” Bitty says, leaning back against his pillows. He’s bone tired, and he probably shouldn’t be up this late, but Jack’s game had run long, going into a shootout, and they always try to at least exchange good nights. “I saw that you guys won it, in the end. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Jack’s hair is still wet from his shower, and he looks just as tired as Bitty feels. “How was your day?”

“Pretty good! Jenna’s settled in enough that I can put her on basic batters no problem. It’s still a little weird to have someone else in the kitchen with me, but it’s also nice? To know that I’ll be able to take a day off or leave the bakery or get sick and there’ll be someone there who can cover, eventually?”

“I’m glad she’s working out. Did anything interesting happen today?”

Bitty shakes his head. “It was a pretty routine day, thank goodness. With how busy we’re getting, it’s a gift when nothing too out of the ordinary happens. And we got even  _ bigger _ after that Great Pie Bake-off thing, and I honestly do not know how I’m supposed to keep up. I got twenty-seven custom pie orders today. Twenty-seven! I’m up earlier every day.”

“Which is why you’re training Jenna.”

“Which is why I’m training Jenna. How’s Tater doing?”

“He’s okay,” Jack says. “Sprained wrist and a broken finger. But he’s been very loud about not wanting to be benched for games.”

Bitty winces. “Tell him I’ll make him something nice if he promises to actually recover like he’s supposed. But  _ only _ if. No rest, no baked goods.”

Jack chuckles. “I’ll let him know. But you could too. You’ve got his number.”

Bitty flaps his hand. “It sounds better coming from you. We get him on a united front, that way.”

“If you say so.”

“I do indeed,” Bitty says, before covering a yawn. “Lord, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. For you too!”

“Yeah. Yeah, it has. And we’re up early tomorrow to go back on the road.”

Bitty smiles tiredly at his screen. “Two more weeks and you’re back home.”

Jack nods and smiles back. “Two more weeks.”

 

\---

 

“Eric?”

“Mm-hm?” Eric is sprawled on his stomach next to Jack, head pillowed in his arms. Jack has been tracing idle circles on his bare back for the past ten minutes, just thinking. It’s a rare afternoon where they both have off (Eric had baked all morning and then given upkeep over to Jenna, Jack is home from an away-game streak and doesn’t have any PR commitments), so they’re spending it inside Eric’s apartment. They’ve got plans to go out to dinner later, but for now they’re just being lazy and enjoying each other. Eric uncurls a little to peer up at Jack. “Yeah?”

Jack swallows. “Um. I wanted to try something. You can say no.”

“Should I be sitting up for this?” Eric starts to move, but Jack places his palm between his shoulderblades.

“No, you don’t have to move.”

“Okay?”

“I want to eat you out.”

Jack can feel Eric still under his palm. “Um,” he says.

“You can say no,” Jack repeats, trying not to feel too disappointed. Of the two of them, Eric is a lot more squeamish and hesitant when it comes to certain aspects of sex. Jack doesn’t know if it comes from past experience or if it’s just Eric, but he does his best to respect all the boundaries he’s given. This is just one they haven’t tackled yet.

“No you just, um. Took me by surprise? I… you really want to?”

“Very much. It’s something I like doing. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.” He hasn’t done it in a long time obviously, since before Eric, but it’s something he genuinely enjoys. He thinks that it might help if he tells Eric why, so he does. “I like the idea of tasting you that way, of feeling you under my tongue, of working into you like that.” Eric’s back flexes under his palm, and Jack keeps going. “And I’d like to hear your sounds, make you come apart a little bit, as I opened you up--”

“ _ Jesus _ , Jack!” Eric twists onto his side and then surges forward, to kiss him, messy and wet. Jack is already half-hard when they break apart, just from his own descriptions and Eric’s enthusiasm.

“Is that a yes?”

Eric looks at him for a long moment then flops back down onto his stomach, throwing one arm over his face. “Go ahead. I’ll stop you if I feel too weird.”

Jack  _ beams _ . And then very happily goes to town.

Ten minutes later Eric is a writhing, sobbing mess, and Jack has both his hands on his hips to keep him from moving away from him, his thumbs helping keep Eric spread wide open.

“Jack,  _ Jack _ ,  _ uh _ , Jack--” Jack thrills at it, tucks those sounds and noises away, hopes that Eric’ll let him do this more often now that he knows what it entails for the both of them.

 

\---

 

There is a lot of falling asleep to each other’s voices.

 

\---

 

“Boss?”

“Yes, Miss Fox?” Bitty doesn’t bother looking up from the lattice he’s doing. It’s a complicated bit of braiding that the client wants, and he has to be careful--

“Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a guy outside who wants to talk to you.”

“You bake half the stuff I sell, Jenna. He can pay you your compliments just as well as he can pay ‘em to me.”

“It’s Kent? If that makes a difference? Do you know a Kent?”

Bitty blinks down at his pie crust. “Tell him I’ll be two minutes.”

Two minutes later, the pie is waiting to be put in the oven and Bitty’s out front, raising his eyebrow at Kent Parson. It’s only his third time seeing Kent in person; Bitty’s been present for a couple of skype sessions, and one memorable dinner outing, but until now, Kent’s kept his distance from the bakery. “Hello. Does Jack know you’re here?” At the mention of Jack, Jenna shoots Bitty an interested look before disappearing back into the kitchen, drat it. Jenna was as bad as Lardo and Shitty when it came to asking for details, and had Tango’s way with questions. Great for learning recipes and baking skills! Not so much for Bitty’s tendency to chatter. 

Basically, Jenna Fox already knows  _ way too much _ , but she is probably also soon going to learn more.

Kent frowns, hands stuck in his pockets, but after a second he nods. “Yeah, he knows. And it’s not like I came down  _ special _ . Aces are playing the Bruins. I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d stop by. But I cleared it with lover-boy first.” He rolls his eyes. 

Bitty rolls his own. “Well, you’re here,” he says. “What’ll you have?”

Kent flashes him a grin. “Besides your company?”

“Kent Parson, you are not actually allowed. Either order a delicious baked good or skedaddle.”

Kent snorts. “This would be why Jack can’t shut up about you. What’s good?”

Bitty has a sudden flashback to a very different hockey player asking the same question. “Everything I make is good,” he says. “But I’ve got some house specialties. How do you feel about apple pie?” 

“Okay. A slice of that, then, sure.”

Bitty leaves him with Tango to be rung up, delighting a little at hearing Tango ask Kent a question. For his part, he goes and plates a slice of apple pie, warming it up right.

When he comes back out, Kent is seated at the counter, but backwards, arms braced against it as he surveys the place. Bitty sets the plate down.

“Here y’are,” he says. He watches as Kent takes a bite.

“Not bad. I’ll have to tell the boys.”

Bitty doesn’t bristle at the ‘not bad’ because by now, he knows Kent Parson. He does, however, react to him “telling the boys.” “Kent Parson you are  _ not _ bringing the entirety of the Aces to descend on my bakery without at  _ least _ a day’s advance warning. I get enough of that from the Falconers.”

“Okay,” Kent grins. “How’s tomorrow sound then? We’ve got a game to win, might as well fuel up before prep and practice. How early are you open? We’ve gotta be at the rink by ten. ”

Bitty throws his hands up in the air.  _ Honestly _ . 

 

\---

 

“Kent stopped by today.”

Jack’s eyes widen. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I forgot. He sent the text asking if he could just as we were going back onto the ice, and by the time we were on break again it’d slipped my mind.”

“Hey,” Bitty says, going to point out the important thing here, “If you weren’t worried about it, that’s great.”

“Did he behave?”

“I think as well as we can expect him to. Though he threatened to bring his team by before prep tomorrow morning.”

Jack shakes his head, but he’s grinning. At the mention of Kent. It’s really amazing how far they’ve come once they started  _ listening _ to each other. “Sorry, Bits. Parse doesn’t threaten, he just  _ does _ . You should probably expect the team tomorrow.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “Well  _ yeah _ . What do you think I’m opening up an hour early for?”

“What? Why?”

“Bakery doesn’t open until ten, sweetheart. Which is when they’ve gotta be at the rink. But far be it from me to deny hockey players their baked goods.”

“I seem to recall you saying something like that before.”

Bitty shrugs. “I’ve got a lotta hockey players in my life. You’re my favorite though.”

Jack grins. “I’ll tell Tater.”

“No, wait, I forgot about Tater. Nevermind, you’re my second favorite.” Bitty hums thoughtfully. “Maybe third. I like Snowy a lot too. He always compliments my stuff.”

“So do I.”

“But he does it so  _ colorfully. _ It’s like having an NHL Shitty. With less yelling about gendered clothing and more updates on The Great British Baking Show.”

“I can be colorful,” Jack says, in pure deadpan.

Bitty laughs. “You tell yourself that, honey.”

“No, no, I think I can. Next time we spend together. Just you wait.”

It’s been even harder to coordinate time together now with the playoffs right around the corner, but Bitty makes a mental note. If nothing else, he can chirp Jack mercilessly about it in person later.

“If you say so.”

The very next day, in between yawns for waking up even earlier than usual in order to make sure that he had a selection of goods by the time the Aces got there at nine, Bitty gets a package in the mail, express next-day shipping.

Inside are seven pots of bodypaint. A literal rainbow of bodypaint.

_ So we can  _ both _ be colorful. _

-Jack

Bitty can’t look Jenna in the face for the rest of the afternoon.

 

\---

 

“Eric?” 

“Mm-hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

 

\---

 

Bitty is practically vibrating in anticipation as the door opens and Jack comes inside the hotel room. At first Jack doesn’t notice him, shoulders slumped as he reaches to turn on the light--before realizing that it’s already on. He frowns, and glances at the bed, his eyes widen--

“Surprise,” Bitty says with a smile. “I missed you.”

Jack blinks at him dumbly, and then he’s just dropping his bags in the entryway and rushing forward. “Eric! You--how--You’re here!”

“Hi,” Bitty says, pulling Jack in for a kiss.

Jack barely pulls away. “ _ How _ ,” he breathes against Bitty’s lips. Bitty had been  _ invited _ to this game of course, but this was a surprise for a reason, so he’d just acted very disappointed and said he wasn’t able to leave the bakery on such short notice. Jack had understood.

He grins now. “I got the plane tickets. Tater and Snowy helped me get into your room.”

“I was wondering why they were smirking at me all day.” Jack still doesn’t look like he can believe it as he gathers Bitty up into his lap, holding him close. “You’re here for the game tomorrow too?”

“If you think you can get me in,” Bitty’s  grin grows. “I’ve got nowhere else to be. Jenna’s holding down the fort at home.”

“Eric, wow.” He cups the side of Bitty’s face. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“I know how I could prove it to you.”

Jack looks tired and he has a game tomorrow, an  _ important freaking game _ , but his arms still tighten around Bitty before he relaxes them. “How?”

“We order up room service and then watch one of your history documentaries while squished up next to each other in this bed.” He points to a box on the side table. “Also, I brought mini-pies.”

Jack breathes a sigh and drops a kiss to Bitty’s shoulder. “That all sounds perfect.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments and encouragement on this story. I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoyed reading it.

Jack is on his way to Eric’s apartment again, the drive so easy and familiar now that it’s just another part of Jack’s routine. He’s never minded driving or being driven; roadies were always easy for him, listening to his music or books on tape or NPR. He finds that he actually likes the back-and-forth of it. Either he’s going to Providence, to play hockey, which he enjoys, or he’s going to Boston, to spend time with Eric, which he enjoys. It’s relaxing, a chance for him to get out of his head and just concentrate on the road, on the sounds playing from his radio, on the fact that he’d either be playing hockey soon or seeing Eric, sometimes both.

He likes his life now. He liked it before Eric, couldn’t complain, but looking back on it he thinks he was lonely for something. The type of companionship he couldn’t just get out of team-building, running with Tater or sitting down with Guy. Now he has this bright, cheerful man in his life, who makes pies appear, who talks Jack through mistakes he might make, who has been there for him when the anxiety surged up to try to choke him, who is so loving and giving and  _ good _ .

Jack doesn’t think he could be luckier. 

He thinks about that too, as he drives. Turns over ideas in his head, new ways he could show Eric how much he appreciates him. That Jack knows how lucky he is that they’re together, goes over different ways he can breathe “I love you” into the day.

Today he has something to ask.

He pulls around the back of the bakery now, putting the parking tag Eric got for him on his mirror before going in through the back door. Eric is in the kitchen wiping things down, making sure everything is clean and ready for the next day. Jack comes up behind him.

“Hey,” he says, wrapping him in a hug and pressing a kiss to the top of Eric’s head.

“Hey yourself,” Eric says. He sounds tired. He tilts up to kiss Jack on the chin, before letting the rag hit the counter with a wet slap. “Perfect timing. I just finished up.”

“Shop’s all closed?”

“Mm-hm,” Eric hums, leaning back against Jack. “Closed signs already flipped. Whiskey finished the dishes for me. I’m going to have to hire more help again.”

“Want to order in tonight?”

“That’d be nice, yeah.” Eric sighs and then stands fully straight again, moving away from Jack to untie his apron and hang it up. “Do you mind ordering? Pick whatever, I don’t even care.”

“Sure.” Jack’s got a few of Eric’s favorite places saved on his phone. “You want to head on upstairs? I can make the call and get the lights and then go to pick it up.”

“What would I do without you,” Eric says. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

“Mm,” Eric stretches. “I think I’m gonna take a shower. Exciting life, huh?”

Jack grins at him. “It’s the best kind.”

 

\---

 

After the leftovers are put away in the fridge, Jack and Eric migrate to Eric’s couch.

“Do you want to watch TV?” Eric reaches for the remote. “We could finish up that series on the Great Depression.”

“Eric. I uh, I had a question, actually.”

“Okay.” Eric turns to face him on the couch. “Shoot.”

“I was thinking about moving. Here. To Boston. I wanted to know if that would be okay with you.” Jack carefully watches Eric’s face for reaction and plows ahead. “The drive is only about forty minutes when the traffic is good, and I normally travel during off-peak hours anyway. I don’t mind the commute, and I’d--I’d like to be closer to you, so I can drop in more. It’d be a moot point during the season anyway, since I’d already be traveling for games.” He’s thought about it a lot, and the only thing that would really change would be the fact that he’d be farther away from his team, his friends. He wouldn’t be able to do his morning runs with Tater anymore, but they could figure something else out. He would be willing to.

Eric nods when Jack finishes speaking. “You really don’t mind the commute?” he asks, which is one of the easier questions to answer.

“Not really. I’m used to being on the road, you know? The drive’s just a routine now.” He’s been making the trip regularly once or twice a week whenever he’s home. The thought of doing it every day doesn’t fill him with trepidation; he’s actually excited about the prospect. “I’d like to do it. Just be able to see you more, even if it isn’t for very long. Have the option to drop in, even if we’re both tired and don’t do anything but watch TV. Have more mornings where I could wake up with you.” And then he has to grin. “You’ve started getting up about as early as I do anyway…”

“Hush, don’t remind me,” Eric says, leaning into Jack’s side. He’s quiet, and they just sit there together in comfortable silence for a little bit.

“What do you think?” Jack asks, after a while.

“Well,” Eric says, “If you really are  _ sure _ you’d want to do that, you’d want to live here, and the commute isn’t a problem…” he trails off.

“It’s really not.”

“Well,” Eric says again. “Then consider this an official invite for you to move in. Um. With me. If you want to,” he adds, sounding shy.

“What? You’d--you’d really want to?”

“Lord, Jack, are you kidding? Of course I do. I’ve been wanting to offer for ever but I didn’t want to have to make you pick between me and that drive.” Eric minded the drive a lot more than Jack did, which was half the reason Jack did it more often. That and he liked Eric’s apartment better. “But if you’re sure you don’t mind the commute… I’d love it if you moved in. If you wanted to.”

Jack feels a little stunned. “Of course I want to,” he says quickly, because Eric’s face starts to fall in the short span of silence. “I just… wow. You mean it?”

“Oh my  _ god _ Jack, yes I mean it! If you want to try to squish your life into my apartment and deal with the drive then I suppose I can free up more closet space.”

“You’ve stolen half of my shirts anyway,” Jack points out. He’s noticed that nearly every time Eric has stayed over, another one of his work-out shirts goes missing. He’s also pretty sure that Eric has taken a few of his flannels. He hasn’t been able to find his red one for a while.

“I did not  _ steal _ them, I’ve just been… helping them migrate into my closet. Which is good, since you’re moving in. Less stuff for you to move, now.”

“So I’m moving in,” Jack says, unable to keep the grin off his face.

Eric chuckles. “It seems like it could be a good idea.”

Jack is already running ideas through his head. He’d planned on keeping his apartment back in Providence anyway, as a go-to place to crash after practice and roadies in case he was too tired to make the forty minute drive immediately, so aside from clothes and toiletries there isn’t a whole lot he’ll really have to move. His dvd collection, some of the art he’s acquired since meeting Lardo if Eric doesn’t mind the additions to his space. He’ll need to tell Tater, since it’ll directly affect him first. 

“I can see the wheels turning in your head,” Eric says. “What are you thinking about?”

“How soon this could happen. I don’t want to upset your routine. Also, rent. I’ll be doing my part of course.”

Eric snorts. “Jack.”

“What? I have to help you with rent. I’m not going to be your kept man.”

“Jack, you could literally buy my building if you wanted to.”

Jack leans forward. “Is that an option?”

“Oh my  _ god _ .”

“No, I mean it.”

“I know you  _ mean _ it, that doesn’t make it any less crazy!”

Jack shrugs. “It’s not crazy, it’s money. That I have. If I don’t spend it on you, who am I supposed to spend it on?”

Eric’s mouth opens and closes a couple times. He looks at Jack. Eventually he says, “ _ You’re _ not allowed to buy my building,  _ I _ want to buy my building.”

Jack nods seriously. “Okay, I can pay for half then.”

“Jack!”

“What? I’m living here, I take up half the space. It’s fair.”

“You’re not living here  _ yet _ .”

Jack leans forward, taking up Eric’s hands. “But I’m going to be. Right?” He smiles. “You want me here.”

“Of course I do--”

“So it’s settled. I pay for half of everything. That’s really the only fair way to do it. Maybe more, for groceries. I eat a lot more than you do. And you do most of the cooking. It’s  _ fair _ this way.”

Eric blinks up at him. “See, the problem is that we’ve both got mile-long stubborn streaks.”

Jack kisses him on the forehead. “But we love each other anyway.”

Eric smiles. “Yeah. We do. I’ll uh, I’ll think about your offer, Mr. Zimmerman. And you can still move in, while I think. Is  _ that _ fair?”

“Don’t think about it too long.”

“No promises.”

“Eric.”

“Okay, okay.” Eric blows out a breath, but he’s smiling. “Give me a week. But feel free to move in before then.”

Jack can’t help but curl his arms around Eric and kiss him.

 

\---

 

Later, when Jack sinks into him, Bitty’s hands curled around his back, there is a stark moment when Bitty thinks,  _ I’m going to get to have this, I’m going to get him every night _ . The thought pulses through him and he has to cup Jack’s face in his hands.

“Hey,” he says, looking up at him.

Jack slows his thrusts and smiles down at Bitty. His hair is a mess from Bitty’s fingers. “Hi.”

“I love you. I wanted to say that.”

Jack closes his eyes, shuddering at the words, and Bitty can feel him everywhere, surrounding him completely.

“I love you too,” Jack says, before he surges forward. Bitty’s mouth is already swollen from kisses but he welcomes more, opening up for Jack this way too, the movement punctuated by Jack’s new pace of sharp and shallow.

“Close,” Jack groans against his lips. He starts to move back, but Bitty clutches at him.

“In me,” Bitty says, surprising himself. The few times they’ve done this without a condom he’s had Jack pull out before--

Jack gasps. “Are you sure?”

“I want to feel you. I want--inside, I want to--”

“ _ Eric _ ,” Jack’s voice is rough and low as his orgasm punches out of him and Bitty can  _ feel _ it. He feels so full. Full of Jack, and the thought is enough to send him over the edge too.

After they both get their breath back, Jack carefully pulling out of him, Bitty makes a face at the mess and Jack laughs, kissing the wrinkle of his nose. “C’mon,” he says, “Let’s get cleaned up.”

They stumble to the bathroom and while it’s big enough, it’s certainly smaller than the one in Providence. There’s a lot of moving around each other until Jack gets them both situated in the shower. Bitty is still feeling a little overcome, and he ends up letting Jack do most of the work, maneuvering him and washing him, shivering a little when Jack cleans him out, the barest stirrings of arousal but mostly the feeling of being so  _ loved _ .

Jack dries them both off and leads Bitty back to bed, and it’s Bitty’s turn to be held, Jack curling around him. Bitty closes his eyes, lets out a sigh.

It’s not perfect. There are going to be arguments when it comes to paying bills, and Jack will still be away more often than not what with his job. Bitty’s already stressed as it is with the bakery’s continued popularity and the fact that he’s got to put out another ad for help. They’ll argue about little things and big things and Bitty will miss Jack when he’s gone and Jack will still have trouble emoting sometimes, or knowing what to say, and that will only get harder with the distance.

But in the meantime and the in-between times they’ll have each other, even for the arguments, and they’ll talk about the mundane things along with the exciting ones. They’ve got stakes in each other’s live now, friends and family and there’s still ways they can communicate, to ask about each other’s days, share laughter, special moments. Jack tries his very hardest, Bitty knows that, and he gives back as good as he gets.

It’s not perfect. But it’s close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is it! Thank you again to everyone who has left kudos and comments. They really mean so much to us authors! This story grew and changed so much from when I first started writing it with a singular idea in my head. Thanks for coming along on the ride with me :)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [justwritins](http://justwritins.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and I'm total cp trash right now. Come say hi!  
> 


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